


With Or Without You

by risquetendencies



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst and Feels, Background Fluff, Everyone Needs A Hug, I'm Sorry, Love Confessions, M/M, Missing Persons, Mutual Pining, Side Pairs Have Screen Time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 09:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 45,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6073998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risquetendencies/pseuds/risquetendencies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Going to visit Kuroo at university should have led to a confession, but what it yields is half of Kenma's heart being gutted from his chest. Never in his life has he felt more lonely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Italics_ \- thoughts / flashback scene

In retrospect, one of the first clues that his brain had checked out should have been that he'd encouraged Lev after a fumbled spike.

The toss had been close to the net, moderately high, and the blockers had smartly positioned themselves a half step backwards so as not to catch a stray overlong arm to the nose. Lev had leapt, his hand had made contact even, but the impact was soft, not enough to give it any momentum to power past the other side's defensive wall. One of the blockers had caught the ball with his palm, and it had bounced off, gently dropping down on their side of the net.

Even though he was improving, missing a shot was a normal enough occurrence that Kenma tended not to pay any mind to it, and focused on getting himself back in position. In his haze however, he'd seen the dejected, gloomy look on the other boy's face, and had murmured, "Next time, hit it harder," before scurrying off to his appointed spot. Whether or not Lev heard him was debatable. 

After practice had been classes, and with them, the dreaded mandatory group project and his second red flag of the day. 

It was for the language arts course and involved researching some side of a controversial topic then presenting that argument to the class with the aid of a PowerPoint. The topic wasn't that bad, it had enough reference sources out there that they didn't have to scramble, and his group members pulled their weight.

Kenma really only took issue with the presentation portion, and his fellow students' assertion that they could complete the work faster if they teamed up together for study sessions outside of school.

Up until today, he'd evaded those invites and worked on his quarter at home, which suited him fine. Better than fine. Which was chiefly why he had to question that earlier that afternoon, he'd voiced an "Okay" rather than his usual, "No, I'm going home," to one of the group members' outreach attempts.

Hours of needless socialization later, Kenma was both exhausted and confounded. But now that he was on the other side of all his rash decisions, he thought he might have an inkling why he'd acted so unreliably earlier. The problem was, it wasn't something he wanted to delve into. It was also something he probably should mull over, like it or not, before tomorrow.

Grimacing, Kenma slid his console shut and grudgingly laid it down beside his hip.

' _Tomorrow doesn't have to be weird_ ,' he thought, ' _It's not like that conversation had a purpose, and it was a long time ago. Kuroo won't bring it up again._ ' 

' _Mostly because he knows it made me feel awkward_ ,' his inner voice nudged unhelpfully, causing his expression to further sour.

Sometimes it was difficult to say what he thought was Kuroo's prevailing motive for dropping subjects Kenma didn't want to discuss, consideration or cowardice. As much as there were things he didn't like talking about, it bothered him that he couldn't endure it if it was something Kuroo wanted to talk about and that he always,  _always_ deferred to him. He didn't really need that level of coddling.

Didn't need the balance of their friendship to get any more lopsided, where he was constantly the one benefitting. It wasn't like Kuroo was some doormat, occasionally he pushed him right back, goaded him to do more, do better with his life, but Kenma couldn't help but think that he didn't gain anything from that badgering. He'd known Kuroo since they were little, but sometimes, his best friend was an enigma.

Tomorrow he was going to visit him for a few days at university.

It meant taking time off school, something Kuroo would normally be vehemently against, but this time he'd insisted for some reason on Kenma being there. Not that Kenma minded particularly. School was going to be a pain no matter what, and he couldn't say that he'd miss sitting through his classes. Workload wise, they were intense, but winding down with just over a month to go until graduation. The backlog of assignments would probably be manageable.

Come to think of it, it wouldn't surprise him if part of this visit involved trying to pick out a place to move into once he started up at college.

Kuroo lived on his own but it was one bedroom and not the most ideal location. He'd had to settle though, after procrastinating on moving out of his mother's house and letting all the buildings closer to campus fill their units with more diligent tenants. But once the new term started, they'd room together somewhere new.

It had made sense on several fronts, both financial and personal. There was nothing about living in a dorm that enticed Kenma, nor did he care to live on his own. Yet when he ran down the list of people he could see himself sharing space with, there weren't very many options. Namely two, and Shouyou wasn't attending university in Tokyo, or even in university yet, so really, his list had defaulted to rooming with Kuroo. 

That was probably why he'd insisted on those specific days. Apartment showings or something like that, Kenma supposed.

Which was fine. He didn't want to go site unseen and end up in some sketchy building, not that Kuroo would let that happen. It would be tiring, going around and viewing different places, but he had to concede the effort would be worth it. But that wasn't what he was supposed to be thinking about. His worries lay elsewhere, with something that had nothing to do with their living arrangements.

Burrowing his face into the pillow, Kenma gusted out a sigh. It seeped through the linen, forming a warm, damp spot that he soon turned his nose up at. _Gross_. Raising himself slightly, he focused again.

Wanting to see Kuroo wasn't the issue, and it never would be. No matter what else was going on around them, they were so linked to each other that it was almost another basic necessity, like food or shelter, that both of them inevitably needed their fix of. Preferably face to face.

The last time either one of them had visited was two months ago, right before Christmas, New Year's, and Golden Week all came in a dizzying row. It wasn't abnormal as for how long they went in between seeing each other these days, but for one reason or another, missing out on that stretch of time had been rougher than any other equivalent span. Maybe it was the holidays, considering they'd spent most of their life celebrating those together. Maybe over time he'd grown less immune to loneliness. Hard to say.

It had been a good visit, up until a subject they'd never broached came to light. Once it was obvious there'd be no resolution, they'd eventually given up talking about it and moved onto other things, like planning the visit he was about to embark on in the morning. Only now, Kenma was realizing that closure probably would have been a good thing to obtain, even if the pursuit of it meant forcing down Kuroo's hesitation and asking him what he was actually scared of. That was the impression he'd got back then, that something was getting under his skin and he wasn't ready to admit it was. 

Their discussion had unnerved him, and whether Kuroo revived it or not, inevitably the tension would surface the moment he saw him.

It was such a careless inquiry that honestly it frustrated him that he was this confused over it.

Being around Kuroo was supposed to be simple, like it always had, and now he didn't have that guarantee anymore. Kuroo was the one who opened but never closed the topic, and though Kenma could clear the air himself if he wanted to, he knew he wouldn't. Doing so would invite too much scrutiny, and far too much deep thought about things he didn't want to think about.

Like how, just that once, he'd honestly hated being the recipient of Kuroo's provocations.

 

* * *

 

_"Do you think it’s weird that I’m in university and I’ve never had a relationship?”_

_Most of the talking they did late at night was rhetorical, thus at first Kenma hadn't bothered answering. Even if it was framed for some sort of response to be given, over half the time Kuroo would fill the silence with the next thing he was wondering about, or some commentary related to the original question._

_What he'd expected was a pause right before Kuroo added something like, "Because I think it's pretty weird!" or "I mean, I can't be the only one right?" depending on what mood he was in. He would then elaborate on his chosen standpoint until it turned into a long-winded ramble set to the tune of Kenma's button mashing._

_Yet what he'd received was a rare and uncomfortably weighted silence._

_The specific one where he was meant to join the conversation and where Kuroo didn't need to use words to compel him. It was a power Kuroo didn't abuse often, so he tended to tolerate it, but the question at hand wasn't one he felt equipped to tackle. What did he know about what was weird or not concerning how much someone dated? Not like he had his own experience to weigh against, nor would he particularly judge anyone's lack or abundance of experience. Was there even an correct answer? It was probably subjective._

_"No, not really."_

_"Yeah?"_

_Another lull, and Kuroo had rolled onto his side to study him, eyes combing Kenma's profile as if it concealed some hidden wisdom. The blankets shifted with him, pulling tight against Kenma's knees and constricting them. Disliking the sensation, he nudged Kuroo's shoulder with his elbow, wordlessly telling him to fix it. Kuroo quirked an eyebrow but followed through, tugging at the covers that had rolled under his body and evenly redistributing them so they were loose again._

_Only then did he grace him with more of an explanation._

_"Well, neither have I, and I'm not exactly worried about it. I doubt one year's difference will make me start worrying."_

_"Yeah, but you don't worry about this kind of stuff." Matter of fact, and slightly cutting in the way the phrasing hinted it wasn't enough an answer for Kuroo's satisfaction._

_Kenma shrugged, more to himself. "Once in a while," he returned, "But not a lot."_

_"Oho really? Since when did you worry about it though? I've never heard about this!" A spark of enthusiasm kindled in his friend's gaze._

_He shot him his best withering expression._

_"I wouldn't read too much into it," Kenma stated, feeling weary already from the way his resistance and Kuroo's persistance were butting heads. This was why he didn't get involved. "And before you get nosy, it's not like I'm thinking about anybody. I'm just human, I guess. It's not really a big deal to me but I've thought about it sometimes."_

_"Wow, well aren't you rude tonight, Kenma? I'm not nosy."_

_Kenma scoffed, rather loudly considering his typical volume. His hands lowered, console resting against his chest as he stared directly at Kuroo._

_"You love gossip."_

_"Don't know what you mean, Kenma," Kuroo whined with all the petulance of a small child, "I'm allowed to be curious about your life's concerns. I tell you mine."_

_"I never ask you to," Kenma muttered under his breath, facing forward._

_Before he could get reabsorbed in his game though, the sheets ruffled beside him, and something darted out beneath them._

_Icy sensation prickled against his ankle and he jumped in his seat, leaping away from the invading coldness. But the more he inched away, the more he was struck with it again, Kuroo's foot knocking against his bare shins teasingly. He launched a glare toward the perpetrator, only to be met with a fiendish smirk._

_"Stop it."_

_"Stop what?"_

_"Stop," he growled._

_Like he had to explain when this was all happening on purpose. Right about now Kenma was regretting not making him put on socks before they'd settled in for the night. His overall temperature wasn't too bad, but for whatever reason, Kuroo's feet wound up morphing into icicles after laying down for long enough. A fact which he knew well and occasionally weaponized._

_"Cold?" Another nudge, and Kenma had curled himself into a protective bundle against his bedroom wall, fierce gaze daring him to continue._

_"Kuro," he grumbled in exasperation._

_All it accomplished was Kuroo scooting closer, thankfully not with his feet that time, but closer._

_Golden eyes watched his progress, their trajectory shifting to a pure vertical course when Kuroo leaned over him. Kenma's grip on his folded knees twitched, and his breath flowed a little less easy. It was probably due to the pressure from his hunched position. Probably. Kuroo's hand cupped his shoulder, and his expression was speculative rather than taunting that time. Kenma waited, not really sure what he was expecting to hear._

_"Hey. You'd tell me if something was bothering you? I'm not next door anymore, but you wouldn't let it go because of that or any other reason?"_

_It was an odd question. Kenma didn't get what the connection was, really, but he could answer that. He shook his head._

_"And it's cool if I talk to you about stuff too?"_

_Now it was officially getting strange, Kenma thought. He didn't like that Kuroo seemed to need reassurance on this matter, but it must be some mood he was going through if he was overanalyzing things that had always been a basic facet of their friendship. If a confirmation was what Kuroo needed, he'd get it. Just not an entirely kindhearted one._

_"Kuro, you've been doing that since we were kids. If you ever shut up, I'd be concerned."_

_That seemed to be the correct response. Kuroo's lips creased, forming a fond line._

_"Good." The fingers on his shoulder rubbed over it almost in a petting motion, but only for the briefest of moments._

_"Okay," Kuroo drawled then, retracting his hand, "Socks for me, games for you, and we'll talk some more," he expanded cheerfully, a more familiar light in his eyes. "Go ahead and get comfy, this'll probably take a bit."_

_Kenma unfurled his legs with a trace of caution, but it seemed like Kuroo was done teasing._

_Minutes later found them in their original spots with the addition of something to cover up Kuroo's glacial toes and extra pillows to prop himself up as he settled into the next arc of his game's plot. The introduction was dialogue heavy, and his attention began to drift once he figured out there wasn't anything of relevance to the next mission being discussed. Eyes fixed on the screen, he let Kuroo's voice fill his mind instead, a steady rumble that was infinitely more engaging, even if at first, he wasn't telling him anything shocking._

_"Anyway, I was wondering about it recently. I guess it’s like, I had my head down the past few years trying to be on the team, trying to make it into university, deciding what I might want to do with my life… and now a lot of that is settled. It’s done. I’m just starting on the career and college stuff, but I’ve got a path mapped out there. So I got to thinking about what else is there? I’m alone, and I don’t want to be alone forever, so I’d probably better do something about it."_

_Alone. The word resonated through his scattered brain, prompting Kenma to stiffen where he lay. Why it nagged at him, he wasn't certain. When he thought about it, the sole response his brain rendered was flawed. Just because he was there beside him now or through the phone when they were apart didn't mean that Kuroo wasn't alone._

_'It's different,' Kenma impressed upon himself, 'he means alone differently.'_

_The notion coiled within him, heavy and noxious to his system because ultimately, he knew what it foretold. It was a truth he'd never taken a hard look at, mostly because he'd never been forced to. But with this newfound epiphany of Kuroo's, he had to acknowledge it._

_In the near future, whatever time they spent together would diminish. Not in the understandable way it had when Kuroo graduated, but because he wouldn't be a priority anymore. Sooner or later, being Kuroo's best friend wouldn't mean as much, because it wouldn't fill the void he was describing._

_Realizing that made his chest ache to a degree that startled him, but Kenma's face was impassive as he continued to listen._

_"I’ve had two, I guess you could call them flings. Is that what the kids call it these days? One in high school, one not long after I got to uni…."_

_Kenma's gaze slanted sideways, and his knuckles grew white from the tightness of his grip on the console. That admission made him uneasy; Kuroo's voice sounded casual, but nothing about what he was saying registered as anything other than alarming. When his mind tried to process the imagery, it only made him feel ill. How had he never heard about this before? Who were these people Kuroo had done it with? Why had he?_

_"Neither lasted more than the same day, and really, it was hooking up. Not sure a few minutes of chatting before doing the deed counts as a date."_

_"That doesn’t seem like you."_

_Once the words were spoken, Kenma's shoulders slumped marginally in relief because for a moment, he hadn't been sure that he wouldn't choke them out and blow his cover. Worry Kuroo over nothing, because even though this was all new and surprising data, it didn't change anything. He knew Kuroo, and humans were entitled to make a few uncharacteristic mistakes now and then. Maybe they hadn't just been mistakes, because Kuroo seemed to have made up his mind after them what he wanted. Maybe they were beneficial in that regard. Kenma wanted to believe that._

_"Maybe that’s exactly why I did it? I was trying really hard to be casual, because apparently that’s supposed to be easy. A lot of people have random one-nighters and casual sex… but it didn’t work out. It's not for me. I want the real thing. Love and all."_

_Kuroo's breath hitched at the tail end of his declaration, and Kenma watched his head duck down briefly before returning to his original posture. There was a film of sadness lingering in his shielded eyes. Then he turned to him._

_Breaking contact, Kenma hurriedly focused on the game he'd forgot to pause, noting his player standing in an open field. His heart was sore from what he was witnessing, but he was determined to perceive it however Kuroo wanted him to. If he wanted everything to be fine, no big deal and just some mundane fact of his life, then that's how they would handle it. It was easier._

_His hands moved on their own, thumbing at the arrow keys to send the player sprinting off further into the map. It was quiet beside him for a spell, and when finally it wasn't, the trance was broken with a poke to his arm, oddly sharp to secure his attention. He didn't want to look, but knew it wasn't an option not to. Reluctantly, he shifted to peer at his friend once more._

_"So... anything to say?" Kuroo began awkwardly, the high pitch of the question striking Kenma as suspicious. "Kinda baring my soul here and I'd like your take on it."_

_"You didn't really ask a question," he replied. It wasn't like that was false. His ramble presented itself as statement more than anything else._

_"What do you think of what I just told you? Other than it’s not 'like me.'"_

_"I don't know how to answer that."_

_More accurately, he didn't want to._

_"You've got nothing? Nothing at all, seriously? Come on Kenma, this is a big deal to me, can't you just try?"_

_"I don’t know, Kuro," he nearly hissed, the tightness in his chest goading his volume to a feverish level, "It sounds like your mind is set on dating someone. What do you want me to say? Don’t jump into bed right away and it might work out?"_

_That wasn't what he wanted to say._

_Kuroo looked like he'd just been slapped, even. That wasn't what he'd intended._

_Bitterness sluiced over him, and Kenma recoiled at his own tone, biting down on the inside of his lip as if trying to contain the vitriol. Sudden and frightening, he was genuinely afraid of what he might snap out next if pressed._

_The worst part was, his mouth and his mind hadn't coincided the way they were meant to. He wasn't sure where it came from, apart from his observation that Kuroo's behavior had been at best, impulsive and damaging. Holding back wasn't Kenma's style usually, but there were some things he didn't poke at. He knew what Kuroo could stand getting pushback about, and what he couldn't. This was the latter. The look in Kuroo **'** s eyes was evidence enough, and his dogged determination to earn validation, not the scolding he'd dished out carelessly._

_His teeth ground harder against his gums, and Kenma finally noticed the gentle tremble of his shoulders. His pulse was vigorous, not yet out of control but climbing. He could breathe, somewhat, through his nose._

_He wanted to apologize, but that was sort of impossible with how leaden and heavy his tongue felt inside his mouth._

_For a while, the woodwind chorus from his game set the backdrop, light as air. Kenma waited, because he was aware it was not his move to make. Nor could he if he felt the inclination, or even the willpower to take charge of the situation that had erupted between them._

_"Let's just drop it."_

_Vaguely nodding, he agreed. Though his hands moved, adjusting his grip on the controls with a practiced efficiency, Kenma wondered what was left unspoken in that sentence._

_"It's gonna get busy from here on out. I'm thinking maybe early February for our next visit? Though it's your turn to come see me..."_

 

* * *

 

For mid-afternoon on a weekday, the crowds at the station weren't huge. Granted, crowds in general Kenma wasn't fond of, but he was pleased that his hunch had proved correct. Traveling alone by train wasn't his favorite method of transportation, so he'd put a lot of thought into how to make it tolerable. Timing was just one part of that brainstorm.

Another was managing distractions, or now that he was out of the train, avoiding one. The more he focused on getting to Kuroo's place as quickly as possible, the less trouble he would conceivably endure on the journey, like wandering off and getting lost. 

A few days prior, he'd gotten a key through Kuroo's mom and instructions to let himself in whenever he showed up, because Kuroo wasn't going to get home from his last class until well into the evening hours. This was fine, apart from the fact that Kenma had to go from the station to the apartment alone when normally Kuroowas there to greet him. It was something he counted on, and a change to the routine that irked him this time around.

When he emerged from the station's entrance and into the streets, Kenma was assaulted by a barrage of visual stimuli.

Taking a second look, his eyes skimmed over the myriad streamers and balloons decorating the windowfronts. The stores were gaudy in the way they littered every available surface with red and pink, but in contrast, the handful of restaurants presented a classier ambience. There were candles at the front doors and the hostesses were dressed in maroon vests and aprons over crisp white button-up shirts. Signs announcing the occasion were also around, but otherwise, the businesses had held back from being obnoxious in their festivity. Even so, it prompted him.

Confirming the date on his phone, Kenma sighed.

Tomorrow was Valentine's Day. And the whole city seemingly couldn't wait to get a head start. Not that it mattered to him, it was just annoying.

Placing his phone back in his jacket pocket, he started traipsing down the street once more, letting the surroundings blur into a sluggish parade of warm colors and overzealous sentiment. It wasn't until he reached the next crosswalk and had to stop for the light change that a new thought embedded in his mind.

' _He must not have found someone to go out with yet._ '

Beside him, a woman chattered effusively into her phone, her spare hand gesticulating along with the story. Kenma shuffled further away out of habit, hunching his shoulders in front of him.

' _Guess we're hanging out then. If he had a date, Kuro would move things around._ ' 

At least, that's what Kenma assumed he would do in that situation. Kuroo was good at splitting his time between multiple activities or people, but he could be single-minded when he wanted to, focusing in on whatever captured his interest. It tended to surface with more serious things, like clearing out his schedule to help a friend in a bind. Kenma knew that well, considering he was typically that friend. When Kuroo sensed a problem, he nosed around and butted in like no one else could until the issue was resolved.

Knowing that about him, it wasn't difficult to imagine that dedication transferring over to the person he dated. Giving up just a measly hour or so for a romantic dinner and spending the rest of the day with his childhood friend, doing nothing more significant than watching movies or playing video games didn't seem like something he'd do.

And as much as Kenma knew nothing about dating, it wasn't what he would want Kuroo to do either. Not if he was going to make someone happy enough to fall in love with him.

Ahead, the light flashed white, and the queue surged forward to cross the street. Kenma tucked both hands in his pockets, eyes firmly on his feet as he blended into the group. The next few blocks were taken up by a park rather than roadways, so he felt safe to retreat into his thoughts without the threat of getting run over. 

' _There might be someone. He might not have wanted to call off the plans we made, but there could be. Someone he's interested in._ '

Was there any guarantee that there wasn't? 

Try as he might, Kenma couldn't shake the mistrust he'd experienced during their last conversation. Kuroo hadn't lied to him, but he hadn't told him about those previous flings either. Maybe it wasn't his business, but when he looked closely at their friendship, it registered as odd to him that Kuroo wouldn't have brought it up, even if it wasn't something he was proud of doing.

Good or bad, they knew every detail of each other's lives, mostly due to spending so much time together. With the way things were, or had been before Kuroo left for college, it was unavoidable.

Except he'd had no trouble concealing that for however long. Was that shaping up to be the new normal between them? Honesty, but to a point, with boundary lines drawn? Was it only over relationship talk, or were other topics restricted too? If so, then which?

_'"Hey. You'd tell me if something was bothering you? I'm not next door anymore, but you wouldn't let it go because of that or any other reason?"'_

Irritation coursed through Kenma at the memory. Even two months later, a sizable cooling off period, those words felt awfully hypocritical to him. Kuroo had  _not_ been fine when he'd relayed that information, he'd kept that pain hidden for whatever reason, and that bothered him. Not because Kenma believed he could do anything to help ease his mind, but shouldn't he at least be given the opportunity to? 

Wondering about that now was ill-advised, though. He wasn't far off from his destination, and he didn't want to ruin the visit by kicking it off with him acting strange. That didn't mean Kenma wouldn't be keeping his eyes peeled throughout the next few days for signals of what had changed in their bond.

Whatever rift they'd created, he wasn't content to let go like he might have with anyone else.

 

* * *

 

By the numbers, the majority of their visits had involved Kuroo travelling home to see him, his mother, or other old contacts. Kenma could count the times he'd gone to Kuroo's apartment on one hand. It still felt like a foreign place, but there was a certain familiarity to it. He'd grown up looking at Kuroo's well worn bookshelf and band posters, the rug in the living room that bore a grape juice stain on the underside from when they were eight, his calico cat-patterned throw blanket. They made it home.

The place was small, possessing not even an inch of extraneous space. Consequently, there was only one option as to where to store his stuff, and that was by the front door. Stepping closer, Kenma shouldered off his bag and hung it over one of the hooks mounted to the wall.

It was then that he glanced upward, noticing an envelope taped in place above where he stood. His name was emblazoned on the front in Kuroo's neat, efficient script. The envelope he found puzzling; any other time Kuroo left him a note it was generally something scrawled on a post-it or a ripped sheet of paper. Why bother with formality? Though, he had to admit that made him more curious.

Reaching to pull it down, Kenma didn't hesitate before tearing into the envelope's seam with his impatient fingers. Inside was a card printed on a vivid shade of red reminiscent of their school color. At that, Kenma stifled a snort - of course that would be the one he'd pick.

There was no other option when Kuroo was feeling sentimental, which Kenma assumed he was if he'd gone to the trouble of fixing some mystery message for him to find when he arrived. The message itself was probably mundane, something like a greeting and a request for him not to burn down the apartment. Kuroo had strange ideas sometimes; this had to be another one.

Kenma flipped the card over and was prepared to skim it, but there was a surprising amount of writing present for a gag card. Kuroo's handwriting covered the space to where he'd almost run out of room, the letters getting perceptibly cramped and slanted the further down he read.

Giving it an overall stare, Kenma wondered why he didn't just use a normal sized sheet of paper and fold it up to fit the envelope. Perhaps it was a lack of foresight, or Kuroo had sat down and wrote more than he'd imagined he would. Either way, it was going to take some focus to read everything.

_Surprise! I thought we could do something different for a change, and here it is. There's more where this came from, but you gotta catch 'em all! (Sorry, couldn't resist.)_

Seeing as how he was alone, Kenma didn't attempt to contain his reaction to that line. Like most of Kuroo's quips, it might have held impact a decade ago, but had long since passed its expiration date for being humorous. Still, his mind wrapped around the words, weighing them as the possible implications fanned out in his head. Scavenger hunt? More likely than not, that's what Kuroo was going for.

Kenma's eyes darted back to the paper.

Playing along with it would be the quickest and most painless way of breaking the ice that lingered between them. Not his favorite option otherwise, but it might help. He wanted things to normalize. Stupid and childish as this endeavor was, he would bite. If it made Kuroo happy, that was at least one benefit, and it was rare that he got the chance to accomplish that feat.

' _He won't stick around forever for someone who's always selfish._ '

Sometimes Kenma wasn't sure why Kuroo stuck around him to begin with, but he couldn't dwell on that for too long before he'd begin to feel like giving up trying to repair things. And he'd already promised himself he wouldn't give up.

Suitably enticed to participate, he returned to the note, scanning through the rest of the message.

_Follow the cards - each one's got a clue in it - and meet me at the end if you can figure everything out. Cool? Okay, so your first clue... What's the thing we always wrestle over even though you really don't care about using it? Seriously, you can't complain when you don't even watch whatever you put on. Look in the place where it's kept. P.S- I don't mind that you do, just saying, you should bow down to my superior taste...._

Unbidden, the hint of a smile played around Kenma's lips at Kuroo's written indignation; he was writing as if he didn't laugh when they scampered for control of the remote. He complained relentlessly, dropped the occasional scathing remark, and baited about how, as a growing young man, Kenma ought to diversify his interests, but Kuroo would always chuckle once the whining blew over.

Kenma really wanted to hear that laugh now, terrible-sounding though it was. 

The note was summarily tucked into his pocket, and Kenma walked into the living room. It had been a while since the last time he'd been over, but if he remembered correctly, the remote was stored in the cabinet under the TV.

Making his way over, he sank down, sitting on the floor beside the various drawers. Opening each methodically, Kenma combed past movies, spare batteries, and an assortment of wires and chargers all before he struck gold. In the final drawer the remote was visible, laying on top of a gift swathed in scarlet wrapping paper and a miniscule black bow.

Kenma squinted at the discovery. There wasn't any reason he could think to justify it, and he assumed it was meant for him if it had been placed there, right where the clue led. He grabbed for the box, and in the process, stirred up the second note hidden beneath.

His hands decided on opening the gift first, the pads of his fingers skimming across a corner of the parcel that had torn, perhaps damaged by it being stowed hastily into the drawer. Gripping the edge, Kenma tugged one face of the wrapping off in a single clean break. When he spied the contents, his mouth made a comical show of parting, right before sealing back up as logic triumphed over the initial glee.

Well, it was one less game he had to stand in line for, even if realistically, he would have been standing in line with the guy who'd bought it for him.

The guy whose actions Kenma was now thoroughly questioning because why was Kuroo giving him a present now? Even if they hadn't spent the holidays together, they'd mailed their respective gifts. Was this something left over from that? Because that was the sole conclusion he could draw, and yet, his stomach was beginning to roil restlessly.

Later that evening couldn't come soon enough, if Kuroo was in class like he'd claimed. Given this set-up, Kenma wasn't certain. It could have been an alibi all along, and Kuroo could be waiting at the other end of the final clue in the succession. Either that or this was a diversion to pass the time until he got home. Kenma wasn't sure what he wanted the truth to be.

What was written on the card did nothing to dispel his nerves and equally failed at providing him any insight for how this whim would conclude.

_Clue #2: I hope I got the right version (pretty sure all the extra cut scenes are in this one). Figured I'd start out early with something you like so that maybe you'll keep playing along with me. Is this stupid yet? Anyway, while you're up and about, why not a trip down memory lane? I think you'll find a few new ones where the old ones live._

None of it was stupid, merely disorienting, Kenma mused. Theories were mounting inside his head, but they all dealt with something improbable. A solution he wouldn't let himself entertain. He'd began playing along minutes ago, determined to follow through, but his resolution was flagging. Maybe he was right and it was some ridiculous diversion Kuroo had thrown together to remedy the awkwardness from their last visit. And maybe it would succeed. But what if that wasn't what this was? He feared the alternatives.

Hunching forward on the floor, Kenma allowed his hair to curtain off the rest of the silent living room, a makeshift shelter for him to utilize while he decided how to proceed. His stomach was a persistent nuisance by then, churning fitfully in tandem with his pulse.

Pictures, Kenma thought, the word standing bolder amongst others in his mind. If he saw what pictures the clue was mentioning, then he'd understand the tone of this hunt. Nostalgic, teasing, or otherwise.

He dragged himself vertical, setting a course for the table on the other side of the room where a cluster of photographs stood. Directly in front was the third note card, resting next to a stack of loose pictures. Kenma seized the latter first, discerning that there were three images in the pile. Each picture was from a different time period, but it soon became painfully apparent what the connection between them was.

On top was a yellowed photograph, the date stamped in red analog numbers at the bottom from more than a decade ago. Two children clung to each other beneath a mountain of blankets, feet shoved under the heat of a kotatsu. They were both black-haired, sound asleep, and matched head to toe in their positions. Back then, height differences hadn't existed.

The second came a few years later, deep into their middle school era. Kuroo and he were posed before the camera, likely for their parents' benefit, wearing their old team's uniforms.

A volleyball was tucked under the crook of one of Kuroo's arms, and tucked under the other was him. His hand rested casually on Kenma's hip, present, but looped to avoid the blond's arm dangling by his side. A broad grin stretched Kuroo's lips, toothy and reeking of boundless pride.

Examining it closely, Kenma thought he knew when the photo had been taken. Their first successful combination attack after finally becoming regulars together. They'd had so little time like that; it had only really come at the tail end of Kuroo's last and his second year of middle school, when fewer upperclassmen stopped to complain and let them play instead.

Almost imperceptibly, he was smiling in the picture too.

' _Stop._ '

Breaking free from his observations, Kenma was rattled by the sudden forceful punch of his heart against his chest.

He wanted to calm himself by feigning ignorance, by denying he comprehended the clues Kuroo had laid out before him, but he knew. He could sense it, the goal of all this, and knowing stripped him of his last remaining shred of comfortable doubt.

Fiercely, Kenma rifled through to the third picture, releasing a stuttered breath upon witnessing the subject.

Quality wise, it was grainy, dark, and the flash from the camera cast a glaring light over the middle of the image. The perspective was slanted, taken from above at an unnatural angle, all the better to capture the entirety of the scene.

Similar to the first, they were laying down together. This time in a bed, and they were no longer matched in height. Kuroo's head was nestled against the pillows, tilted to gaze over at the sleeping form beside him. His glance was fond, and were it not for his role in the image, that alone would have been the chief embarrassing feature of it. Scanning over the remainder, Kenma noted the way his own body seemed to be curled into Kuroo's, and the hand cozily draped across Kuroo's stomach. There was no other word to describe it than cuddling.

Back in the present, Kenma felt his shoulders trembling what the picture depicted. He couldn't shake the notion that it had to be a recent shot, during one of their last visits, perhaps. Had he really been that careless when he was asleep?

Bile lapped at his throat, but Kenma found himself reaching for the clue card, hoping desperately that some absolving explanation would be etched there.

_And now a little something I like - the feeling of you in my arms. It's always felt right, and it's probably what I miss the most being away from home. Apart from getting to talk to you face to face every day._

Ink dotted the paper sloppily following the declaration, a sign of hesitance. A few spaces later though, the writing resumed.

_Kenma, if you start to realize where this is headed, and you're not interested, I won't be offended if you just leave. But, if this is at all okay, then-_

Something akin to a groan left Kenma's lips, and again he paused, swallowing futilely several times in succession. His breathing was feverishly paced, and no matter how fast it circulated, he couldn't seem to secure enough air. Hazy as his mind was at the moment, he was cursing Kuroo.

Loudly despite his outward silence. Wretchedly, considering his feet weren't going to do the smart thing and propel him out of here before he ruined everything. How long had Kuroo stewed on these feelings? Why was it him that Kuroo liked, and why did he need to put on such a grand gesture to tell him?

Kenma knew he didn't merit any of the effort. Not with the kind of person he was. Frankly, the idea that someone like Kuroo would fall for him, pine after him for years was improbable. A feel-good fabrication with little viability in the real world.

Sensation ruled him in the following moments. His lungs felt flattened by the weight of his doubt, and pain snaked up through the rest of his body as he sat there considering his next move.

Where to run, even though Kenma knew in the end, he wouldn't run. He couldn't believe any of this, but that just made him want to hear any and every reason that justified this absurd infatuation of Kuroo's. If it wasn't all some elaborate ruse, Kenma knew he'd accept it. Give Kuroo whatever it was he wanted from him. What he might have wanted himself, if he'd ever dared to think it was possible.

Golden eyes flickered down toward the card, re-reading the last phrase. Kenma blinked, trying to steel his nerves before he proceeded.

_But, if this is at all okay, then-- Clue #3: It's probably best if I'm blunt at this point. The next card's in the hallway where that big mirror is. Don’t skip it, it’s important._

He let the photos drop from his fingers back onto the table. Soundless and blind to the periphery, Kenma crept out of the living room and toward the appointed spot. As promised, another message was taped to the glass.

It was especially troublesome to take seriously.

_I want you to look at the face I never have and never will get tired of. Look at how great you are, even if you don't want to see it. I promise I'm not exaggerating. P.S – The last one’s on the door to my room._

' _Great. Such a stretch_ ,' Kenma thought, flinching from the sting as tears seared a path down his cheeks. Pale and round, that about summed up his features. Lilac streaked the skin beneath his eyes on a semi-regular basis, and his face was framed by limp, two-toned locks that he never bothered to do anything with. He didn't want to look at himself. There was nothing of note there.

Turning on his heel, Kenma fled from his reflection. He wanted to flee entirely, but refrained, stalking down the hallway toward the bedroom.

For the final card, he let it hang off the door where it had been placed, opting instead to read it from that vantage. An eerie calm had settled over him in that moment, the tears the sole sign of his distress that Kenma felt anymore. The pain and tremors had subsided, and he'd gone numb. He was so close. He was also spectacularly past his limit as far as emotional output went, with no chance of relief any time soon. 

_Hey there, Kenma. I'm happy if you made it this far; thanks for putting up with this. It's probably pretty stupid, but I wanted it to be special for you. And for me... I've kinda been thinking about this for years, which you've likely guessed by now. So from here on out, the rest I'll tell you myself, not on paper. If you decide you want to, and you walk through this door... I will finally tell you that I love you._

Misty, blurred, and shrouded by intermittent snaps of darkness as he closed and opened his eyes. That was how the world appeared to him now. He hoped for the long shot that this was all genuine, because no matter what, the him that Kuroo was about to witness was in poor shape.

Poorer than the standard, anyway. 

Clasping the door handle, Kenma sucked in a wispy breath, and then pushed it down.

He imagined Kuroo pacing inside, or maybe he'd relegated himself to the bed to wait, feet dangling off the side of the mattress and fingers tapping nervously against the sheets. If Kuroo was nervous, that would almost make him feel better. It would be bearable, and maybe seeing that would enable him to have an iota of faith. Kenma also imagined the look of relief that would spread across Kuroo's face when he caught sight of him and all the tension melted away in an instant.

When he swung the door open, his imaginings proved critical.

No matter how he gaped at it, the room was empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from the song of the same name, the version I prefer is [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uIGUhas-LuA) if you'd like to listen.
> 
> Well, this is my first multichapter in Haikyuu, and I didn't expect to be writing a truck load of Kenma, but here we are and I'm loving his voice. Saddle yourself up for some angst (I'm sorry) and let me know in the comments if you're digging it, conspiracy theories, or even if I'm making mistakes.
> 
> Tumblr: [@risquetendencies](http://risquetendencies.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the angst last chapter, and sorry in advance for this one too, I'm afraid there isn't much on the fluff front yet.
> 
> Once again: _Italics_ \- thoughts / flashback scene

Searching the cramped bedroom with his eyes took a mere five seconds, if that. Scanning around the subsequent second, and third times took slightly longer. Kenma's eyes raked over every surface, however inconceivable it might be for someone as tall as Kuroo to hide there.

He just felt the overwhelming urge to confirm that with the touch of his own hands over the furniture, his gaze peering underneath the computer desk and bed, staring up at the ceiling as if it would provide an answer. None of it helped, because at the end of his frantic hunt, nothing had changed. The room was as empty as it had been when he'd walked in.

Kuroo wasn't here. In that moment, the why or how didn't interest him.

Kenma lowered himself to the edge of the mattress, shaky hands coming to rest atop his thighs. If he'd thought his vision was obscured before he'd come in, half blind from anxious tears, he hadn't known anything yet. Misty as his view was now, it also stung to keep his eyes open, angry sensation lining the corners and prompting him to squeeze them shut for a bit of relief.

The cards he had grabbed down from their hiding places felt like a cement block in his pocket. They were taunting in how straightforward they were. But he'd followed them all, and this was his reward apparently. Allowing his hopes to rise, and then be invalidated in one fell swoop.

' _Allowing my hopes... to rise?_ ' he thought, fingers latching to the denim of his pants and scrunching around it. Kenma shook his head as if that could somehow knock the statement loose. ' _What hopes? I never thought of Kuroo like-_ '

He attempted to finish ruminating on that point, but couldn't.

The next question to flit across his mind cut right to the point.

If Kuroo was here, wouldn't he have accepted him and whatever confession he wanted to make? Never mind his disbelief - if it was truly happening, there wasn't any other answer but yes, Kenma concluded.

All of these clues, all of these notes, little pieces of Kuroo's writing, they weren't a prank. There wasn't going to be some take back at the end, and no one was going to laugh at him for getting caught up in them emotionally. He couldn't believe that anymore, even if it would have been easier to on some levels, far easier than believing his best friend was in love with him.

As for his own feelings, those were murkier, but he wouldn't have turned him down on that basis.

Kuroo was essential, and he didn't want to lose him. That was enough reason to go ahead. The rest could be figured out later, probably.

Giving a shuddering sigh, Kenma glanced around the barren room once more. His pulse felt strained, painful beats landing against his chest, the insides of his wrists. He couldn't help but worry.

Nothing about Kuroo's absence felt okay. Innocent reasons for it didn't ring true no matter how hard he tried to console himself with them.

What if something had happened to him? The apartment seemed undisturbed, so Kenma could only imagine whatever it was hadn't happened here. Outside though, there were countless potential dangers. Too many to wrap his head around, but that alone fed his paranoia.

Kuroo could be hurt somewhere, bleeding and broken. Someone could have abducted him, as crazy as that theory sounded to him to consider given his imposing build. It was still possible. There could have been an accident, or worse. But Kenma didn't want to consider what the worst options would entail. His nerves were already shot as it was without thinking that in some form or another, Kuroo wasn't going to come back.

And when he did, Kenma would kill him himself for what he was putting him through.

He licked at his lips, glossing over the deep cracks in the flesh. Hope, that was what he needed to locate and cling to. There were less horrific explanations out there, and losing control now was ill-advised. Better to move step by step and eliminate extraneous possibilities. Find the cause of his absence, and then find him.

He just needed to be systematic in his approach.

Hefting himself to his feet, Kenma traced a path to the front door of the apartment, back to where the coat hooks were. Beside the one where his belongings were was a scarf hanging by its lonesome, and two empty hooks that he knew were normally occupied. But the fact that they weren't didn't completely rule anything out.

He shifted his search to the hall closet, ignoring the knot in his stomach that formed as he thumbed through Kuroo's jackets.

Each one was a memory in of itself, of where they'd been when he'd bought it, or who had given it as a gift to him. There were more than just a couple, but examining them reminded him how sentimental Kuroo could be. Most people would be less than thrilled to receive clothing as a present, but the content of a gift had never mattered to him; he'd always craved the thought behind it instead.

He'd explained that to him before, after getting the windbreaker littered with cartoon black cats in a seamless pattern from Bokuto one holiday. "It's stupid, it's actually really stupid looking," Kuroo had agreed in response to Kenma's less-than-impressed eyebrow quirk.

"But that goofball has an even lamer one covered in owls, and they kind of match. So if we wear them together, it doesn't seem that bad. Anyway, he must have listened to my moaning and groaning about all this cold-ass wind we're having lately. That makes me happy, not gonna lie."

When he reached the end of the hangers, his theory was confirmed. There was a coat missing, and he even knew which one. Kenma wasn't sure if it made him feel any better that Kuroo was out there with one or not. It was better than the alternative, given how the winter chill had yet to evaporate, but it only underlined the fact of his absence.

Sparing a final glance at the clothes, he stepped back and shut the door.

Second to knowing what he'd worn was figuring out if Kuroo had brought his phone with him or not. If he had, then he could call him and hope he felt like talking. Understandably, if he was the reason Kuroo wasn't here, the strategy might not pan out. If that was the case though, a text could suffice. He'd let him know none of this bothered him - not the whole truth, but it might be enough of a comfort to coax him home.

A main plan and contingency plans in mind, Kenma returned to the bedroom. Kuroo normally charged his phone in there, right beside his bed. He was the type of person who always kept it on, even when it was plugged in. You could call around the clock and count on reaching him, dead asleep or wide awake. He was reliable in that way.

Kenma needed him to be reliable today.

But perhaps that was asking too much. As he passed through the door, he immediately spotted it on the table. Calling Kuroo would be impossible.

The discovery impacted him more than expected, the knot in his chest tightening like a vice. Panic threaded through with an indescribable rage reigned free inside him, half because his methods were failing him and half because Kuroo, a creature of extreme habit for as long as he'd known him, had picked that time to act differently. If he couldn't anticipate what Kuroo was thinking, what he was likely to do, where he might go, he couldn't track him down. He couldn't make sure he was safe. They wouldn't talk. About anything ever again.

Hurtling forward, Kenma ripped the phone off its cord, glaring down at the backlit screen.

His hand squeezed around it roughly for a long while, fingers inert but twitching from repressed anger. The sting around the corners of his eyes wasn't waning, but he refused to let any tears escape. If nothing else, he'd let it fuel him until his goal was met.

' _I should call people,_ ' he mutely decided.

A few minutes later, some of the tension bled out from his hands, and he tapped idly at the screen to bring up the contacts list. ' _One by one, and see if anyone knows anything. That's all you need to do, you don't have to talk to them any more than that, and if they understand why, they won't make you. You need to see if he's with one of them_ ,' Kenma thought, as the anger receded into a more familiar and crushing emotion.

He tried not to dwell on how Kuroo never wanted anyone to see him when he was down, how he hid himself away at those times.

' _Someone will know something. If he's not there, they'll know where he might be._ '

A few swipes of his index finger later, he raised the phone to his ear and accepted his fate.

"Well hey hey hey there, lover boy!" being cooed across the connection, frankly, was not what he imagined. Neither was the rest of the fast-paced spiel dealt to him before he could take a moment to think of how to counter it.

"So, how did it go, did he like the notes? Are you guys getting married now, because I think I'm ready to be a best man! I mean I gotta think of a speech so don't get married without giving me some time for that! Did you kiss? Was he happy you confessed to him or was he kinda pissed because wow, you're slow Kuroo, and you say I'm bad!"

Kenma wanted to know what to say to that, but he really had no clue. "I-I'm," he stuttered out, but quickly lost the train of his words.

"You're not Kuroo," Bokuto stated, glaringly confused by the fact. Hoping to take advantage of the pause, he gathered his courage again, only to be interrupted by a sing-songed refrain. "You're Kenma!"

"...I know," he settled for responding.

"Ohoho, it must have went really good then if you're calling me then! Is Kuroo too wrecked to talk? I bet it took a lot out of him, he was looking forward to this for a long time! And I told him, man, make sure you take a deep breath and be calm before, because if you don't, then you'll-"

"He didn't do it. He isn't here right now," Kenma interjected, feeling the strength drain from him as he used it to make himself heard over Bokuto's babbling. "That's why I'm calling."

"Oh my god, I am so sorry! I thought it had already happened and-"

"Bokuto," he almost sighed into the phone, and despite the difference in their volumes, the other end immediately went silent. He was grateful for that much because he wasn't sure of what he wanted to say, at least not at first.

His stomach refused to stop folding in on itself, clenching with barely suppressed anxiety. He just couldn't shake the instinct he'd had when the shock had worn off from being alone in Kuroo's bedroom. It could be nothing, he  _hoped_  it was something like that. Worst case scenario, Kuroo had gotten cold feet after setting himself up with such a grand gesture and had taken off to muck around the city until the embarrassment died down. 

But why to go to so much trouble if he was only going to run away? That part didn't fit.

There had been at least a few clever phrases built into the notes, giving Kenma several opportune moments to simply walk away. If he made it through all the clues, that should mean that whatever happened afterward wasn't going to be as bad as anything Kuroo could build it up to be in his head. There shouldn't be any reason for him to run from impending rejection - even if that was how it played out, it wouldn't be a particularly scarring rejection.

 _'Because there wouldn't be one_.'

"How come?"

Dragged from his musings, Kenma let out a soft noise, indicating his befuddlement.

"You said Kuroo wasn't there. How come you're there then? Everything was set up at his place, and you're calling from his phone, but he isn't there? He should be."

Bokuto was just surprised, he schooled himself. He couldn't know what affect those words would have on him. Were having on him, he corrected inwardly. As in currently, with no sight of it blowing over.

Still, something in his throat stoppered at the rapid fire inquisition, choking off whatever air he'd been getting in thus far. ' _Even he knows something is weird about this_ ,' Kenma couldn't help but infer, going against the grain of the reassurances he'd been trying to drown his negative thoughts in. ' _The fact that Kuroo isn't here means something is wrong_.'

' _It also means he didn't tell him anything, if he was planning on not being here from the beginning_ ,' his brain supplied in a frail attempt to nudge him back from the ledge.

"Kenma?" Bokuto sounded uncertain now, cautious, like he had the first time he'd seen him have some form of a breakdown. Kuroo and Bokuto were together enough that it'd eventually happened, and well, when did Kuroo not drag him along to every outing?

' _Other than those few he didn't want me to know about_.'

Rather than the disaster he'd imagined it would be when it cropped up, Bokuto's concern at the time had been oddly grounding.

Something about the way he hovered nearby, body held still when normally, he'd shift his weight side to side restlessly for no apparent reason, and his voice lowered to a pitiful whisper took the edge off. Almost as if he was able to control the tide of his nervous tics for the sole sake of not frightening their typically boisterous and cheerful companion. Having any actual control over the anxiety was laughable, but with Bokuto there, Kenma wondered if it was possible for that to exist.

Before, it had only been soothed by external sources, namely, doing something to take his mind off whatever was sending his brain off in fretful loops of doubt and fear, or someone else to bring him back. 

With him, he found himself doing it all on his own.

"I don't know," Kenma answered truthfully. "But he isn't here, and I agree, he should be. The note," he closed his eyes then continued, "said he'd be waiting in his room. So we could talk."

' _And when are we going to get to do that now, Kuroo?_ ' he wondered. ' _Or are we not going to finish talking again, because you're afraid?_ ' was the next, slightly vicious inquiry to flash across his mind. ' _I'm also scared, it's not just you_.'

That final thought echoed more sensitively within, dimmed by the fear's resurgence. As much as he just wanted this to be some misunderstanding, and for Kuroo to be fine, he was selfish enough to speculate about what would transpire when he showed himself again. They couldn't keep dodging the issue, not any longer than they already had. He couldn't do something like this and then expect Kenma to ignore it.

"Have you heard from him today?"

"Just our usual good morning texts, breakfast texts... otherwise no," Bokuto trailed off sadly, and Kenma had the sneaking suspicion he knew what expression must have been crossing the other's face.

And if he was correct, he'd really rather get off the phone as soon as possible, because he didn't have the fortitude to deal with a worried and stressed out Bokuto. Only two people that he knew did - one was the missing person in question, and the other was Keiji. He still had a few more places to check, and his willpower was already flagging. He couldn't get pulled into these sorts of things right now.

"If you hear from him, tell him he can come home." 

That would have to do for now.

 

* * *

 

_Graduation had snuck up on him faster than he imagined possible. Between volleyball, endless amounts of homework, and passing his entrance exams for university, it was upon him in an instant. And now that it was, now that he'd defeated all the necessary demons, Koutarou felt a bittersweet peace settle over everything. Peace at being done, but it was mixed with sadness because he'd be transitioning, and that meant saying goodbye in some regards._

_When you had things you didn't want to say goodbye to, that could be rough. So he'd decided. He was ready. Rather than bidding farewell to something special, he was going to set in motion a bond that would hopefully keep them connected._

_Maybe it was cliché to confess when he was about to leave school, but he'd waited long enough and he didn't honestly feel he could keep it in anymore. Calling Akaashi a friend these days made him feel strange, like he was lying about it._

_And he wasn't lying. It just didn't cover the whole spectrum of his feelings._

_Today the surviving members of the team were throwing a celebration for the graduating seniors in the evening, after they'd had a chance to do something with their families. Originally it had been meant to be a surprise gathering, but well, he'd kind of messed that up like he always managed to bungle surprises._

_Koutarou had hoped they'd do something, and when it didn't seem like anything was planned, he'd freely admit, he'd sulked a little. Prompting all suspense to be thrown out the window in favor of consoling him that yes, his juniors did care, they hadn't forgotten, they weren't secretly getting together to toast that they were finally rid of him or anything like that. Akaashi had even wiped away his tears with the sleeve of his practice jacket that particular night, so even though he'd cried, he'd left feeling elated and more than a bit touched at the gestures._

_And had promised himself that the night of the party would be the night he'd do it._

_Only, Koutarou had walked off the stage with his diploma to find Akaashi standing beside his family, calm as could be despite his relatives' loud cheers, like he belonged there. Consequently, any notions of waiting fled, and it was all he could do to not to bolt through the crowd to reach the group of them, other attendees' personal space be damned._

_"AAAA-KAA-SHIII!"_

_He was beyond surprised to see him there, at the actual ceremony, but it was probably better. More precisely, it made the jitters in his stomach intensify, and while that shouldn't be a good thing, it somehow was. Akaashi had cared enough to come see him graduate. That in of itself was sufficient to keep a smile plastered on his face for the rest of the night._

_Koutarou was kind of hoping though that what else he had planned would fuel that joy further, provided it went well. Reading the mood now, he felt like it would. They were friends, close friends, but he'd always thought Akaashi was more than that even before he'd put a label on his feelings. In time, 'best friend' had become 'crush' and this far along, had evolved into 'someone I love.'_

_When he drew close, he made a beeline for him, launching right past the arm that his father had outstretched to clap him on the back. Foolish as it was, he could feel the intent boiling inside him, and waiting was no longer an acceptable option._

_"I thought I wouldn't see you until tonight!" Koutarou greeted breathlessly as he slid to a stop before him._

_"Congratulations on graduating, Bokuto-san." Akaashi nodded humbly, bypassing the words to offer his own. Somehow he didn't mind, because it felt like anything that came out of Akaashi's mouth right now would contribute to the painfully wide grin he was sporting._

_If he said something else though, it was swallowed up when his mother descended on him, engulfing Koutarou in a bone-cracking hug. He audibly wheezed, the hand clutching his diploma flailing uselessly at his side. Over her shoulder he spied Akaashi turn to respond to one of his aunts, leaning down slightly to hear her better in the noisy auditorium._

_The sight made him pleased to the point that he didn't really care that his circulation was being cut off by the woman who had brought him into the world. Absolutely nothing hurt at that moment, not when he was riding on cloud nine. Yet, the urge to want to monopolize Akaashi's attention was potent, and for that to happen, he did need the use of his body returned to normal._

_At length, he was relinquished, and he staggered backwards, feeling the blood course through his veins again in a searing blaze of relief._

_"Here, Mom," he gritted out when he felt able, "Can you hold onto this? I wanna talk to Akaashi."_

_Koutarou wasn't sure what he expected in return, but it wasn't his mother winking at him in a conspiratorial manner before accepting the paper into her hands._

_Golden eyes magnified in apprehension, and he shifted his gaze to make sure the raven wasn't seeing any of this. Luckily, Akaashi was still safely conversing with various members of the Bokuto ensemble. He echoed a sigh of relief, and shrugged in his mother's direction as if to say he couldn't argue with her. If she knew, she knew, and she didn't seem to mind. Ultimately, that was one less detail he had to worry about._

_Pooling all of his courage together, he bounced over to where he was standing, gaining his attention with a tap on the arm._

_"Hey... it's kinda loud in here," Koutarou initiated, shoving both hands into his pockets to prevent them from fidgeting. Even so, he rocked back on his heels a few times, the gravity of what he was gearing up to do weighing on him in that moment. "Can we go outside for a little bit?"_

_Akaashi blinked slowly at him, but his face remained impassive._

_"Sure, we can go outside," he conceded eventually._

_Though it technically wasn't his original plan, Koutarou had no trouble devising an alternate location for where he wanted to confess._

_If it had been at the party like he'd intended, any quiet, private corner would have done, but being here provided him with a better opportunity. Somewhere more special, and as soon as it came to mind, he rued ever thinking some random spot at one of their teammate's house was sufficient. Akaashi deserved special, and he didn't want him to look back on them getting together with any regrets, or wishing he'd been more effortful. It had to be amazing the first time._

_They talked about mundane things on the way there, speculating on what foods would be served at the celebration later, if anyone other than Koutarou would cry, when he was going to move out of the house for college. He'd already opted out of living in the dorms since his parents had offered to help with renting an apartment, and had several unit viewings lined up in the next week._

_"It's pretty close to Fukurodani, and home, but I'm gonna get a place near campus, strike out on my own!"_

_"And leave the nest?" Akaashi suggested in a misleadingly mild tone of voice. Koutarou snorted in response._

_"Yeah, I guess you could say that! But seriously, it's not that far at all," he emphasized, head tilted to watch the younger boy's reaction._

_Akaashi's eyes narrowed slightly, determined and focused, like they did when he was trying to analyze something he found puzzling._

_"...That's nice, Bokuto-san, but I figured, given your choice of university. Why do you say so?"_

_'The direct approach,' Koutarou thought with a surge of pride, because it was so like him. Akaashi never held back unless being straightforward would cause trouble, and he enjoyed that about his nature. Even if he was visually hard to read at times, the way he spoke was clear and easy to understand._

_"So that you wouldn't have to worry about not being able to come visit me!" he exclaimed, voice climbing in volume. His lips split amiably as he watched Akaashi's earlier expression drift into a familiar and fond exasperation._

_"I suppose it is good to know I won't have to go far for those welfare check-ups," Akaashi murmured in response as they arrived at the edge of the school gardens._

_Rather than the sakura that lined the main walkways, the area was swathed in various shades of emerald, plants, shrubbery, and trees making up the scenery. The further back one walked, the thicker the tree population became, turning into a small forest near the edge of school grounds._

_It was a place Koutarou loved because it never failed to soothe him. Even on the worst days, sitting amongst all the foliage made his problems seem less overwhelming. Calm was definitely what he needed to accomplish what he wanted to do right now._

_"I'm gonna miss this place," he blurted out suddenly, the words tumbling out before he could recall them. "Say, wanna sit down for a bit maybe before we head back?!"_

_Akaashi appraised their surroundings for a moment, then his muted green gaze shifted to him._

_"I would, but there's no benches. I don't think my mother would appreciate trying to get grass stains out of khakis." That much was muttered under his breath, but close as they were standing, he caught it. "You shouldn't ruin your suit either, Bokuto-san. It looks nice on you. You probably spent a lot on it, right?"_

_Heat surged throughout his top half, and dazedly Koutarou confirmed that yes, that was his heart trying to hammer a path out of his chest. And it was doing so pretty forcefully. But he was still standing, and he needed to answer that deluge of words somehow._

_"Yeah, maybe we shouldn't.... You know, I always thought khakis were boring, but they look great on you, Akaashi. Really! They're a good color for you and not boring at all!" he responded with a burst of enthusiasm, inwardly grateful that his brain managed to come up with something._

_And then Akaashi's lips curled into a miniscule smile, and he started to question if he hadn't just dug his own grave._

_"I'm glad they're not boring. What did you want to talk about? I'm sorry, but I'm saving your graduation gift until the party later. You'll have to wait."_

_He felt like he was sweating bullets. Knowing how he reacted under scrutiny, he probably was._

_"That's okay! You're my present." Then, realizing how that sounded, Koutarou quickly rebounded, yelping, "I mean, you coming is like a present, since I didn't expect it. Of course you yourself wouldn't be a present, you aren't a thing, 'Kaashi, I didn't mean it like that-!"_

_A single bead of sweat slid tauntingly down the back of his neck as he flailed around, and the chilling sensation brought him back to reality._

_He had approximately zero time until the awkwardness would begin to stick, and he'd lose whatever chance he'd had to do this under the proper conditions. The longer he waited, the stupider he'd wind up sounding, so he had to get the words out pronto, Koutarou concluded._

_Steeling himself, he lowered his hands and then reached outward, capturing both of the other boy's in his._

_To Akaashi's wary stare, he raised a nervous but radiant smile._

_"Akaashi, I really care about you. You make me so happy, and I kinda don't know what I'd do without you sometimes. I-" he paused to catch his breath, ignoring the rampant beat of his pulse, "I'm in love with you. Will you do me the honor of being my boyfriend?"_

_After wrapping up his confession, Koutarou gusted a sigh of pure relief. How long had he been stewing over what had taken under a minute to deliver? Too long, but it had flowed out naturally. He hadn't faltered or messed up the words, which was better than he'd given himself credit for in his imaginings of how it would go._

_Golden eyes flickered over to the recipient, patiently waiting. Akaashi's hands were clasped around his as before, their fingers loosely intertwined._

_Then as he watched, Akaashi released the grip, shifting so his hands were on top, engulfing his fingers and holding them._

_"You make me happy too, Bokuto-san." He gently squeezed at where they were connected, and Koutarou's smile widened in anticipation, his heart soaring high. "But I've thought about it and I think we're better off as friends."_

_Never had silence seemed so disorientingly loud._

_'Wait,' he thought blankly as the words began to register. 'I don't think that's what was supposed to come out.'_

_His gaze trained back on the other male, only to find him averting his eyes almost guiltily. Akaashi wasn't looking at him, and he wasn't offering up more of an explanation, but Koutarou was pretty sure that what he'd expected to hear and what he'd actually heard didn't match. And that it meant he wasn't going to have a boyfriend to give the spare key to his place when he found one, nor have Skype dates with, or to visit when he came home on break. To cook for and cuddle on the couch with when their bottomless stomachs were suitably filled. To toss to him._

_"You've um, thought about it?" he eked out, throat scratchy._

_Akaashi didn't have an immediate answer for that. It took him several uncomfortably empty moments before he could respond. When he did, the tone of his explanation hurt more than the initial rejection, if that was even possible when Koutarou weighed the crushing force of knowing he wasn't good enough. He didn't make Akaashi happy enough to want to love him._

_"I knew that you cared for me Bokuto-san, so this was inevitable. If I'm being honest, I probably could have guessed that you'd pick today out of all days to confess."_

_"Then why let me?"_

_He tugged his hands loose. Though he was no longer looking, he knew Akaashi was staring at him._

_"I didn't feel like I should keep you from doing it, if it's something you wanted to do."_

_Nothing about that response satisfied him._

_"Okay," he rasped after taking a minute to steel himself, saying it as though it were actually true, "That's okay. I mean, I'm glad I got to tell you, at least."_

_A few tears squeezed out without permission, instantly destroying his projected acceptance. Akaashi glanced at him with wide eyes._

_"I don't hate you, Bokuto-san, and I promise it's nothing about not liking who you are." His consolation was delivered softly, and then he was stepping closer, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder. Koutarou hated that he leaned into the touch, but doing it was as natural as breathing._

_There were only a few people in the world he felt that way with._

 

* * *

 

And one of them quite possibly was missing.

Ever since he'd gotten off the phone with Kenma, his thoughts had run rampant with questions. The biggest being what in the world Kuroo could be thinking to disappear at such a crucial time. There shouldn't have been anything short of a natural disaster stopping him from being there to carry out what he'd set in motion.

Kuroo had fallen in love with Kenma pretty much the moment he'd met him, if you heard him tell it. Years, foolishness, and a heaping dose of doubt had made him put off confessing. Cowardice too, in Koutarou's opinion, and Kuroo frequently agreed with him on that point when they discussed it. As far as why he'd ditched that fear at long last, well, there were a lot of factors.

Loneliness being one, and failed attempts to forget him and start over another. The latter Koutarou could completely sympathize with, although Kuroo had gone a bit further in those attempts than he could bring himself to on his scattered, awkward blind dates. How awfully those had turned out had given Kuroo the kick in the ass he sorely needed. Simply put, he'd decided there was no getting over Kenma unless he put his feelings out there and was properly rejected.

Contrary to his own situation though, Koutarou was confident that Kuroo wouldn't face that dismal fate. He'd stake his life on the fact that whatever existed between his two friends was mutual.

But what did he know about predicting those things, right?

' _Life sure is great_ ," he thought darkly, nudging his head under one of the mountain of pillows he had built around him.

One upset after another kept cropping up recently, and he was at the point where he wondered how he'd accrued so much bad karma that fate was paying him back for. School wasn't terrible, he was doing reasonably well in his courses, but it was more the personal side of life that sucked. And once in a while he'd find himself spilling his drinks or tripping on the sidewalk, and considering how everything else was going, he took those harder than he would have in prior years. It felt like he was being targeted.

Still, the Kuroo thing was definitely the most disconcerting. 

Tugging his phone back toward him, Koutarou opened up their last chat, scrolling to the end without a second glance. His fingers then busied themself in crafting a barrage of texts, hitting send every few words. The more text notifications the better, in his opinion.

> **BoHootO:** _kuroo_
> 
> **BoHootO:** _where the heck are u_
> 
> **BoHootO:** _r u ok???!_
> 
> **BoHootO:** _your should-be-bf just called me asking whre u went_
> 
> **BoHootO:** _did u get lost_
> 
> **BoHootO:** _u got lost didn’t u_
> 
> **BoHootO:** _kenma is worried abt ur stupid butt so am i_
> 
> **BoHootO:** _call 1 of us when you get this, k? don’t worry, it’sgonna be fine_
> 
> **BoHootO:** _but truth is i think he knows_
> 
> **BoHootO:** _abt that thing i helped u set up_
> 
> **BoHootO:** _ok so he knows_
> 
> **BoHootO:** _and i kinda confirmed total accident btw i just thought u ere callin to tell m ehow it went and yeha he knows_
> 
> **BoHootO:** _i think its gonna go great_
> 
> **BoHootO:** _get back there and get ur man_
> 
> **BoHootO:** _2mrrw’s v day and u guys can go out that’s nice_
> 
> **BoHootO:** _bt first u gotta show ur face_
> 
> **BoHootO:** _really freaking me out bro hope ur ok_

Now, all he had to do was sit back and wait for the messages to work their magic. Maybe Kuroo would rather talk to him than the object of his affections right now. If he was chickening out again, which Koutarou could only assume given what was transpiring, maybe it would be less pressure to check in with him instead.

After that, a couple of reassuring words, and everything would be fixed. The two of them could finally work it out, right in time for Valentine's.

Koutarou gnawed on his lower lip a little at that conclusion. Kuroo had it easier than he realized, and it was kind of frustrating.

He was happy for them, he was. It was just... he craved that same happiness.

And where before it was out of reach because Akaashi had turned him down, now it was even more impossible because of something that he'd done. The worst part was, he was pretty sure it was something he'd needed to do, but it still didn't sit with him right. Since it had happened, he'd replayed it countless times. Had he overreacted, was it too harsh? Or perfectly justified, given their history and everything combined?

At the time, they'd agreed to stay friends. For a long time, it had worked out fine.

Being around Akaashi still felt natural. Right up until Koutarou remembered that a portion of his feelings were off limits. Then it didn't.

It manifested in him being cautious in a manner he'd never been in his life, easing up on the physical affection and overanalyzing every vaguely complimentary or sentimental thing he found himself wanting to say. First and foremost, he didn't want to make Akaashi uncomfortable. Doing those things not knowing how the other boy felt was one thing, but now that he was clear on where their boundaries were, it was different. More and more though, he found himself adhering to those boundaries for his own preservation.

The further apart they were, the less it hurt. 

Problem was, that didn't mean it ever stopped hurting or stopped keeping him up at night wondering where he'd read their bond wrong.

Koutarou had never asked him for an explanation; at the time he had done his best to not devolve into gross tears and track snot down the front of his graduation suit. He couldn't have taken hearing Akaashi's logic, not then. And not in the nearly a year since he'd rejected him, apparently.

Morbidly curious as he undoubtedly was, he never brought it up. Maybe there was a prevailing side of him that didn't want to know. After all, he was pretty weak to criticism, he knew that about himself too well. Knowing stuff like that would make it harder to relax and focus on maintaining their friendship. Over the intervening months that had been the priority.

 

* * *

 

_"Ugh, I'm so disappointed!"_

_His clamoring provided the previously quiet living room with a chaotic soundtrack, Koutarou leaning back to sulk in accompaniment once he'd made his declaration. The outburst spooked the boy lounging beside him, a bite of popcorn dropping from Akaashi's hand back into the bowl. He glanced at him narrowly before fishing out a new and marginally larger fistful._

_Koutarou crossed his arms over his chest._

_"I just don't understand why people do that! It's really stupid when you think about it, like he already cheated on her, so of course he's going to do it again if he gets the chance. Why doesn't she see that too? I mean, it's not like she couldn't find a nice guy. Kiyomi is awesome!"_

_Satisfied in his rant, he then shifted his gaze to the side, waiting for input. Akaashi was busy consuming his snack, so it took a few moments of pointed eye contact before he deigned to answer. Hostile eye contact in Koutarou's opinion, because what was wrong about waiting for him to finish eating? Akaashi didn't need to glare at him while he was patiently waiting!_

_"Because she wants to believe Ren has changed," Akaashi stated simply._

_"But he hasn't!"_

_"On some level, she may know that, but the fact remains, she wants to believe he has, that she isn't wrong for loving him. That the man she loves isn't a scoundrel and they can truly be happy together."_

_Insightful as the answer was, it nagged at him, prompting Koutarou to spout off, "Ughhh, that's so silly though. Kiyomi, why?!"_

_He reached for a handful of popcorn to console himself, shoveling it down half-heartedly as he tried to accept the episode's conclusion. Kiyomi and Ren were only a side pairing, so it was unlikely they'd get much more development for another couple of episodes, and Koutarou knew it was going to bug him until they did. He just hoped for her sake that her blind faith would pay off. Maybe that kind of thing was possible in a drama, if not so much in real life._

_The ambient music from the end credits faded out then, replaced by a jarringly loud jingle. Koutarou trained his attention back on the television, watching as one of the convenience store ads played, boasting about bottom line prices on all the essentials a girl would need for the upcoming holiday._

_He supposed he'd been aware of it on some level, but he hadn't actually realized how close the date was getting. Not that it mattered for him, but Kuroo had some thing he wanted to put together, and he'd roped him into helping out with the preparations. They'd probably have to start working on it soon._

_"So, Akaashi, got a Valentine this year?" he inquired around a heaping bite of popcorn._

_"No, I don't."_

_"Not yet, huh? I wouldn't worry if I were you, tons of girls will cook you chocolate. You'll have more than you know what to do with. Hey, you should give me some of it... if you get sick of eating it, that is, and don't mind sharing. I don't think anyone at university gives them out any more unless they're dating, so I probably won't get any."_

_"If they offer me some, I will have to reject them," Akaashi cut in matter of factly, the response probably a foregone conclusion for him. Yet, despite being the person to bring the topic up, his answer stirred something wretched inside Koutarou._

_"Yeah, you're pretty good at that," he muttered._

_He didn't need to be watching him to feel the tension in the room heighten as soon as the remark left his lips. But his head jerked to the side anyway, just in time to catch a shocked look flash across the younger male's face._

_After a very stilted pause, Akaashi craned his body on the sofa to face him more directly. His shoulders were taut and his hands were curled atop his thighs resolutely. He met Koutarou's nervous gaze with a cautious determination._

_"Do you have a problem with me, Bokuto-san?" he asked in a hush._

_Flustered from the question, Koutarou was disarmed by a storm of different emotions battling for dominance within. There was sorrow, and anger, and even a trace of fear mixed in there. He was bursting at the seams to be honest for once, without holding back. In the same vein, he was terrified of losing whatever relationship they had salvaged from the wreckage of that day. He was serious when he'd said he loved Akaashi, and that included not wanting to be apart from him._

_But recently, he'd had to wonder, was what he was doing really living?_

_Moderating his behavior just to keep them glued together as friends, was that acceptable? Even with all his efforts, he doubted Akaashi forgot that he had feelings for him. Neither of them could forget that, Koutarou had tried and failed enough over the past months to know that his affection wouldn't budge. Not when they saw each other as often as they did._

_"No," he lied, "Forget what I said, it was rude. Sorry 'Kaashi."_

_Koutarou ducked his head in a solemn pose, trying to will away the negativity that had infiltrated his thoughts. This wasn't how he wanted to treat him, no matter how he felt. It wasn't okay, and he didn't deserve the bitterness. Akaashi was allowed to not return his affections. He was allowed to love someone else, or no one at all. When he wasn't feeling so depressed, he understood that better, but he'd reached a valley as far as his emotions were concerned. If he gave it time, he'd remember the reality that his disappointment concealed from him._

_"It sounded honest to me," Akaashi interjected. There was a soft creak, and then his body froze at the hand clutching his forearm._

_Slender but strong digits dug into the muscle at first, but when they felt him tense, they trailed soothing patterns over the skin instead. It was a touch he'd experienced only a few times before, and only when he'd been at the lowest of his lows. Where it had been comforting, now he wanted none of it._

_"If there's anyone who should be sorry, I'm sorry that I hurt your feelings, Bokuto-san. Despite how difficult it must be, you've stayed in contact with me, and I'm very glad for that. I apologize for not saying that earlier, and I want to say now that you don't have to spare me anything. Speak your mind even if you think it's better left unsaid."_

_"I can't do this, 'Kaashi," Koutarou whispered, dragging his arm out from under the other's grip._

_"What can't you do?"_

_"...Be friends with you."_

_A dam within him cracked, all the pent-up longing and melancholy releasing in a rush to leave him empty. His chest felt lighter than it had in months, in stark opposition to his head, which throbbed painfully. Tears swam in his eyes, and for once Koutarou didn't try to stifle them, letting them cascade downward in the hopes that it would soothe the remaining pain. Maybe in time, maybe once his brain and his heart could agree that what he was doing was necessary._

_"C-can you leave?" He inhaled so he could catch his breath better. "I'm really, really sorry."_

_There was a broken sort of a gasp next to him, a distressed sound he didn't know Akaashi was capable of making. And he had caused that. More proof that whatever they had going wasn't good, maybe not just for him but for either of them._

_"Yes," Akaashi's voice cracked, and then he was standing. "I can do that, Bokuto-san. ...Please take care of yourself," he said, "for me."_

_The last part he barely caught and wished he hadn't. A few minutes later however, the sound of his apartment door closing echoed so loudly in his mind that Koutarou was certain he would have heard it even if he was deaf._

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later, it was still a gaping wound.

Akaashi had been one of his best friends, losing another was too much to consider. So he chose to hold onto the idea that apologetic and maybe a little worse for wear, Kuroo would show his face again. Preferably with some consoling words for him once he finished patching things up with Kenma, because Koutarou had kind of neglected to tell him about the fallout with the unrequited love of his life.

He hadn't wanted that weighing on Kuroo going into his confession, because if there was one thing he knew about his buddy was he took everything to heart. It would be a distraction, a worry, something he didn't need when what he had on his plate was already nerve-wracking. It could wait.

Not like the situation was going to change in a few more days anyway, so Koutarou had felt justified in his decision.

Now he just wanted to get to talk to him again in general. Didn't matter about what, so long as he was okay.

Opening up their chat log again, he combed the messages he'd sent before. Each one had gone through successfully, but when he examined them closer, he wilted because not a single one of them was stamped with a "Read" sign. Instead there was only the time they were posted and an empty space beside that.

Burrowing into the pillows, it took him a moment to work up the nerve to return to his project, but when he did, he let his sentiment run free.

> **BoHootO:** _kuroo, ur my best friend don't disappear on me_
> 
> **BoHootO:** _when u get back i need u to tell me its gonna b ok_
> 
> **BoHootO:** _i finlly made a choice_
> 
> **BoHootO:** _talk more @ u abt it ltr tho_
> 
> **BoHootO:** _stay safe <3_

It was roughly five minutes later that he remembered that Kenma had called him from Kuroo's phone.

Koutarou promptly flopped over in bed and gave up for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Update:** This chapter now has a lovely piece of art to go with the first Bokuto flashback. You can find it [here](http://painpackerrisingsun.tumblr.com/post/163801593213/koutarou-hated-that-he-leaned-into-the-touch-but/).
> 
> Tumblr: [@risquetendencies](http://risquetendencies.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

Getting jostled around by the evening rush on the train was a steep sacrifice to make, but Morisuke figured (or at least hoped) it would be worth it in the end. Scratch that. It had been a month since they'd visited each other. Making the trip was definitely warranted, and he knew that Lev would appreciate the effort once he overcame the initial shock.

He just wished he'd been able to come a day or so earlier, or at least earlier in the day today, but his schedule hadn't permitted him the luxury. But it was still Valentine's, so that was going to have to be good enough.

Hefting a sigh, he watched the air ahead cloud from his breath, the chill of the night causing it to materialize into a puff of white. His nose felt five good minutes away from becoming an ice cube, and his cheeks were ruddy too, but he'd arrived at his destination.

Out of the many windows he could spy from the sidewalk, only two were lit, the one on the main floor he knew was the living room, and the corner room on the upper floor that was Lev's.

Stiffening his shoulders with a new resolve, he lowered his gaze toward the front entrance of the home. Speculating on what his boyfriend was up to at this hour was nonsensical when he could just head on in and find out himself.

A short walk and a few courteous knocks later, the door swung open to reveal his partner in crime.

"Good evening, Yaku-chan," Alisa greeted fondly before giving him a glance over.

Something, perhaps a sisterly instinct, lit in her mismatched eyes, and then she was stepping aside to usher him in. Morisuke attempted to make his own greeting, but it got a little lost in her newfound fervor. And if he was being honest, he tended to be a timid version of himself around her in general, even after a year or so of being acquainted.

"You must be freezing!" she worried, fingers tugging at the thin layer of his jacket in an appraising way. His pulse leapt, but he steeled himself for the fussing, knowing from experience that no matter which Haiba he was dealing with, they were relentless once they sunk their claws into a goal. "Let me know if you want the heat up any higher, all right? Once you're settled in. I can make some tea too, the last batch Lyovochka made has probably gone cold by now, he took it upstairs over an hour ago...."

Morisuke shook his head.

"I think I'll be okay, but I'll let you know," he promised.

The fingers then dropped from his jacket and he allowed the tension in his posture to dissipate.

On the heels of the release came a sudden reminder, and he immediately turned to shoulder off his bag, combing through one of the side pockets. Alisa viewed him with a curiosity that made the back of his neck burn, but he continued, undeterred in his search. When he found what he sought, Morisuke pulled it out of the pocket carefully.

Standing on two feet again, he cursed the flush that was steadily dying every inch of visible skin he possessed. But the problem was, he didn't know if getting her a gift was weird, only that it had seemed like a nice gesture at the time and he'd tried to put some genuine thought into it rather than going with chocolates or something typical. She deserved that much consideration for how welcoming she'd been to him.

"Uh..." he hesitated, "I know it's Valentine's Day, but this is something to say thank you for the past months. You've been really kind about Lev and me, and I wanted to let you know I appreciate that."

Gritting his teeth, he passed a small box over to her, the outside decorated with a simple yellow ribbon.

Alisa accepted it with a look of faint surprise, although that quickly morphed into gratitude once she uncovered what lay inside.

"It's so pretty!" she exclaimed, running her slender digits over the petals of the sunflower hairpin in admiration. "Thank you so much, Yaku-chan!"

"You're... welcome," he eked out, awestruck by the brightness of her tone.

Though when it got right down to it, he was pleased it seemed to have been a good buy. He'd agonized over what to get, and when he'd gone shopping he'd had to decide alone, given the fact that he'd bought Lev's gift the same trip. Normally he might have asked his opinion of what his sister would favor, but the timing hadn't lined up.

"It's sweet," her lips curled as she examined the pin more, "but you don't need to thank me. You make Lyovochka happy, and I fully support that. He's such a good boy but sometimes people don't take the time with him, so I'm glad that he's found someone like you, Yaku-chan, who lets him be himself. But also more than himself, in a way."

Morisuke cleared his throat gruffly, wavering where he stood. In that precise moment, his face felt the warmest it had been since he arrived.

"Well, I like who Lev is. Even when he pis-makes me angry," he amended, an embarrassed chuckle tumbling out afterward that Alisa grinned at. "I mean, nothing's perfect, right, but it's... he's good... for me too."

Speaking the words aloud, dusting them off from where they'd laid buried, tangled around his heart, only reminded him of his yearning. He'd been known to be the sentimental type when it came to his friends, certain members of his extended family, but the illogical pining he was subjected to when he went too long without seeing Lev was something else. It threw him off his game and he couldn't shut it down no matter what distractions he employed.

"How's he doing?"

"Oh, a little blue today. We had fun going out for lunch earlier, but once we came back to the house, I think it hit him where he'd been ignoring it before, maybe? He really wanted to come visit you, especially because of Valentine's, and well, he's upset with himself for preventing that," Alisa explained at an even keel. Then her shoulders lifted in a shrug, as if to say that it couldn't be helped.

"School comes first," Morisuke agreed. "I'm glad your mom let me come here instead though. She could have told me to buzz off until he got all his work done, but she didn't. That was nice of her."

"I think she knew he'd mope around forever if something wasn't done!" she giggled. "This way maybe he'll work if he has you to help."

"He'll do it or he'll be in trouble with me too," Morisuke vowed. "Anyway uh, I should probably," he gestured upwards sheepishly, earning him an enthusiastic nod.

"If you're quiet, he may not even hear you until you're close!"

Replacing his belongings over one arm, he strode towards the staircase, intent on heeding that helpful hint. This was meant to be a surprise visit after all, so why not draw out the suspense until the last possible minute?

It wasn't often that he got the jump on Lev like this, and he enjoyed his reactions when he was able to shock him. He acted just like a little kid, wide, sparkling eyes and excited flailing included. It was definitely adorable and he'd never in a million years admit to that outside of his own head, so thinking about it was the extent of what he could do.

If not for the weight on his shoulders, he would have climbed the steps two at a time.

When he reached the top, everything was silent up until he reached Lev's bedroom door. Gingerly pushing it open, Morisuke peered inside to notice the younger boy seated at his desk, headphones on and hunched over his laptop. What was on the screen wasn't visible, but judging by the sniffles he heard, it wasn't anything educational. Lev despised homework like every other teenager, but not that much.

Morisuke deposited his luggage onto the floor and then hesitated, thinking of how he wanted to approach. As he mulled over the possibilities, he kept his eyes trained on the back of Lev's head. It felt surreal to even be a few steps away from him, and a sudden nervous spell gripped him, a knot tightening low in his stomach. But he wouldn't let it stop him.

A loud and exceptionally moist inhale tugged him from his musings, the pitiful sound of it causing him to want to laugh. What even was Lev watching to get so worked up about? The fear attempting to root inside him diminished in the light of that question, replaced by a fondness that prompted him forward.

Summoning his courage and stomping down his burgeoning embarassment, he leaned over the back of the desk chair and wove his arms around Lev's neck. Predictably, the body beneath him stiffened, at least until his boyfriend craned his neck to discover the person responsible. Then he couldn't contain the smile that broadened his lips.

"Mori-san!"

The headphones came off in a blur, and the laptop was shut, Lev's full attention latching onto him instead.

Morisuke piloted around the chair so they could see eye to eye. An intention that lasted about two seconds before he was bodily yanked down onto the other male's lap. He should have known it was inevitable, but it made him quirk an eyebrow. Though given their recent and clearly traumatizing (for Lev, and maybe a tiny bit for him) separation, he'd let the bold maneuver slide. It was good to be close again.

"I missed you so much, Mori-san," Lev confided in a murmur significantly quieter than his previous tone, nuzzling their noses together. Heat lashed through him at the proximity and also at the force behind his words. 

To give himself something else to focus on, Morisuke traced a hand down one of his forearms, gaze dropping into his- no- their laps at this point. Sure, he could make the effort, he could come all this way, but actually _saying_ stuff? He was terrible at knowing how to respond in these situations. His tongue might as well be removed for how useless it proved to be when he needed it to function the most.

Inwardly cringing, he rested his forehead against Lev's.

"You always say that."

At the resulting grip around his waist, he only huffed before relaxing into it.

"I really do miss you a lot every time!" Lev chirped brightly before inquiring, "Do you not want me to be honest?"

"No, that's fine." Morisuke hated how worn his voice sounded, weak-willed and doubting, how unlike his normal self. But winding up outside his comfort zone and acting like a fool were notions he'd long since acknowledged as coming with the territory of them dating. Didn't mean he'd necessarily made peace with the idea though.

"Just hard to believe," he mumbled under his breath.

"Why's that? I love you, so of course I'm going to miss you."

Lev studied him for a reaction, frowning when he offered none. His fingers skirted upward to massage the space between his shoulder blades, broad, sweeping circles that lulled him into a blank state. Morisuke stilled in his perch, focusing on the drag of his hand and the softness of his shirt pressing into his skin with each touch.

"Even if I didn't, I think you're a cool person, Mori-san. And I don't understand why you don't seem to believe that when I tell you it. You're not shy with other people," he rattled off eventually, the crease in his expression deepening. "Why won't you accept my opinion? How am I different that you won't trust me?"

He shook his head ruefully.

"I do trust you, Lev. It's just me being stupid, I guess. To think that someone really thinks so highly of me seems like a dream. I know you're not lying, but accepting that for myself isn't easy. You're my... first... person... that I've been serious with like this. I'm not used to it."

"I'm going to be the last one too."

Head snapping up, he trembled a little at the surety laced in Lev's declaration. It was ten times more ludicrous than any promise of love he'd ever made, but in that moment he didn't _want_ to doubt it, despite all the reasons he could have come up with to refute the possibility.

He wanted it to be true.

Watching him in slight awe, he barely noticed his hands slipping back around until they were cupping his head and guiding him closer. Finally, after what seemed like ages, he felt Lev's lips meld with his, that same crushing passion suffusing through their kiss. Lev held him steady, taking greedily at first with the way he pressed into him, capturing his top lip and tugging at it none too softly. Morisuke whined in response, parting his mouth. Moments after he slipped his tongue forward, pushing his lover's down when it grazed against his challengingly.

He didn't get to control everything.

Shifting his position, his hands covered Lev's where they rested to either side of his head, twining their fingers and lowering both to his waist. Silently, their gazes locked, Lev's breath hot against his face in the pause. A message he didn't need to verbalize. Here, if nowhere else, they understood each other perfectly.

 

* * *

 

"Time to wake up."

"Nnnghhhh-" 

"No," he growled, brushing aside the non-answer, "get up."

Gusting out a harsh exhale, Morisuke could feel his impatience soaring. Forget the fact that he'd encouraged the distraction, and even slacked enough from his original goal to let them doze off afterward. They had slept, and now it was the next morning already.

And Lev still hadn't done his homework. He knew that without asking. There wasn't a chance that he'd worked on it before his visit, and it was going to fall on him to drag him through the backlog. As usual, only he wasn't supposed to have to do that anymore.

Altogether displeased by the tired hum his boyfriend uttered, Morisuke leaned down and jostled his shoulder again, this time without a shred of mercy. Lev might have been two meters of lean muscle, but Morisuke wasn't weak, and when he was frustrated, he was stronger than normal. Unrelenting, he shook his target until a louder groan surfaced, the silver-haired male opening his eyes to pout at him.

"I don't care. Get up, you have work to do. The only reason your parents let me come over was because I said I'd help you."

"They won't be home yet, let me sleep, Mori-san-" he begged, drawing out the syllables of his name.

"It's late morning, you've slept enough already. Now get your lazy ass up or I'll quiz you on math first. Don't think that I won't, either." 

Lev shot him a weepy stare, shuffling closer so he could sling his arms around what of Yaku he could reach. He was still laying down, however, which was what tipped the scales in the end. Wiggling around fruitlessly, Morisuke glared, clinching the decision in his heart. There was a bottle of water next to the bed with Lev's name written all over it, just waiting to be poured over his head, that was what his heart said.

Fate disagreed, unfortunately.

Crouched on the bed at the angle he was, he didn't have time to react when the door swung open. Dainty footsteps trailed in at the same instant as his body froze in panic. He became acutely aware of the fact that he was shirtless and currently being snuggled by an equally disarrayed individual. Also, that there was only one person who could be waltzing in right at the moment.

Upon making the connection, a rush of blood darkened his face in embarassment.

"There's breakfast still if you two are hungry!" He could _hear_ the carefree smile in Alisa's voice, which somehow made it worse. "Lyovochka, you might want to get up, Mom and Dad are going to be home in an hour."

"Thanks nee-san!" chimed the human barnacle attached to his side, blowing past the whole humiliation factor of the situation.

A tense couple of seconds later, they were alone in the room again and Morisuke was ready to implode. What made it worse was that he appeared to be the only one affected, because the laugh Lev barked out was anything but self-conscious. 

"Why are you so red, Mori-san? It's not like my sister doesn't know we mak-"

"Shut it!" he hissed at rapidfire speed, regaining his mobility in time to slap a hand over his boyfriend's teasing mouth. 

Forget the waterbottle by the bed, if he wasn't laying down, there would be a flurry of roundhouse kicks with Lev's name all over them. Seething, shoulders locked and eyes narrowed, he stared at him, trying to decide what a suitable punishment would be.

_Bzzt. Bzzzzt._

Huffing at yet another interruption to his long overdue scolding, Morisuke turned to grab at the floor next to the bed, releasing Lev in the process. He stuck his head over the side to make his search easier, locating his phone peeking out just under the frame. The name flashing across the screen wasn't what he expected, if he was being honest. But the fact that they rarely communicated outside of group texts made him curious enough not to ignore it.

Pressing the green bubble on the screen, he accepted the call.

"Hello?"

"Hey, um... Yaku-kun... sorry this is kind of random, but uh, look. I need your help with something. It's about Kuroo."

 

* * *

 

Quiet, for Kenma, was normally a positive. It allowed him the clarity to shut off his thoughts, to let his mind go blank and stop hyperfocusing on the world around him. If nothing transpired, there was nothing to analyze. If the world didn't speak, he didn't have to engage.

But he was finding himself unable to relish that peace now. The apartment he dwelled in was soundless and free of distractions. Yet he would have gladly traded that for the familiar sounds of life he was used to with Kuroo around in a heartbeat.

Companionable silences shared with Kuroo were the moments he ranked the highest.

It was one thing being left to his own devices and soaking in a lifeless atmosphere, but quite another to experience the calm with another person. ' _No, not another person_ ,' he amended dully to the ceiling, ' _Just Kuroo._ '

Rooms felt fuller with him in them somehow, whether by the sheer fact of another person occupying the space or some intangible manifestation of his presence, he wasn't certain. The walls would seem to shrink in around them, and rather than seeming oppressive, it left him comfortable, blissfully at ease without even stopping to realize the tranquility. Insulated, perhaps.

The brand of quiet he was stuck with now lent itself to self-reflection, and for better or for worse, Kenma was beginning to pare apart the mechanics of their relationship. Maybe he hadn't noticed it developing, over the long stretch of years they'd been friends, but there were so many intricate details going on beneath the surface that made it what it was, what he was used to, and what he now was missing.

Realistically, he'd been without a lot of it since Kuroo had moved away, but there'd been a reassurance bubbling beneath the surface that the distance wasn't an insurmountable one. They could be around each other if they bridged it with their own effort.

He didn't have to worry about never idly passing the time with his best friend again because he was just a train ride away. Tangible and close.

' _Are you still close?_ ' he wondered as he propped himself up better on the pillows decorating Kuroo's bed. They smelled of fresh detergent, a pleasant, airy scent. It was just as disappointing as it was when he began his vigil, and the rest of the apartment was the same. 

Waiting. How long he'd been doing it, Kenma wasn't aware of. Hours had spilled past him without notice, and with the blinds all shut, it wasn't like he knew where day began or night ended. Maybe it hadn't been more than a couple and it was some bleary-eyed hour of the following morning. The length wasn't what he was concerned about; it was if he'd waited stubbornly enough to outlast Kuroo's fear of returning home.

Confessing being the thing to rob him of his usual composure; that felt like a viable theory. If Kuroo had been so afraid to tell him that he'd held it back for years, it would be understandable that on the eve of taking that step, he panicked.

But he wasn't a weak person; he didn't hold onto fear. Maybe a grudge here or there if someone or something really rubbed him the wrong way, but he let most things slide off his shoulders eventually. It was a trait Kenma both didn't share and didn't understand. Far from his own mindset, he supposed Kuroo was a good person for reacting that way. Perhaps he ought to attempt to emulate him.

Only, he couldn't. When something unnerved him, he'd rather cut off any exposure to it, not pursue conquering the root of the problem. It didn't alleviate with time. He rarely forgave, and never forgot. It spared him alot of repeat mistakes.

There was a big schism between how Kuroo and he interacted with the world. They were too opposed for him to have a hope of becoming like him. So instead he'd do what he could to let their differences be mutually beneficial. Kuroo to soften his edges and make the word traversable, him to buffer Kuroo's good intentions so that he never got hurt too deeply.

It was how they'd always been, how he hoped they would be in the future. Only, Kuroo needed to be here for that future to happen.

Something nudged at the periphery of his musings, and when the interruption grew forceful enough, everything around him burst like a bubble he didn't even know had been there. In the rush of sensations, it took him a moment to realize someone was knocking on the door, and a half second more for a desperate hope to surge through his veins and for him to scramble to his feet.

When he did, fatigue or something like it made its presence known. Kenma paused instinctively, falling back to sit on the edge of the bed. He was curiously lightheaded, the room blurring around him before slowly receding back to normal. His stomach joined in with an irritable grumble, and once more, he was pressed to wonder how much time had actually passed.

How long had he been waiting for Kuroo to walk through that door that he hadn't? Not for an instant had he doubted it would happen. He couldn't afford doubt.

Had he locked the door after searching the apartment? Did Kuroo leave without his key, like he had with his phone? Or was that part intentional and Kuroo had still possessed the sense to leave with a way to get back into his place when he was ready?

The knocking grew more insistent.

Never mind the questions he had, he needed to get to the door.

Combatting his unsteady gait, he eased himself through the bedroom and down the hall as rapidly as he could, leaning heavy on the front entrance when he reached it. Weak as he felt, he gathered all the pent-up rage he had in preparation.

Kuroo had always been quailed by his anger. Maybe because it was so rare for him to boil over as opposed to shutting down. It would keep him from running immediately if indeed he'd disappeared because he was afraid of confronting him after revealing his affection.

He unfastened the locks and then the door itself, a stony resolve his leading expression.

It was in vain, though.

"Kenma!" two voices called in clear relief. He blinked, then felt disappointment wash over his facade.

Bracing against the door frame, he was unable to muster their names because when it came right down to it, there was only one name he'd been prepared to say, one that he'd hoped to get to say. Neither of them were it.

The world unfocused at a rate far too sluggish for it to be accurate, and he felt himself slipping, his grip on the door failing him as a crutch. Vision spotty, he let his eyes close, giving into the urge that he couldn't quell. Slow as everything was moving around him, he began to brace himself for the floor, but he met a sturdier surface. One that supported him upright again.

"He needs to lay down," one of the voices suggested, breathy with panic. "Come on, I'll help."

"I can do it," the other reassured, and then it resounded closer. "Sorry about this Kenma."

His body lost contact with the floor, being scooped up instead like the dead weight he probably was. All other thoughts chose then to fade out, for how long, it was impossible to say. The next words to register were calmer somehow, if still concerned. 

"Do you think it's from not eating?"

"Honestly, it probably is. It doesn't look like he brought anything with him, and the kitchen's undisturbed. And going that long without it... that could explain why he fainted. No, it has to be," mused one of the visitors, as if he was working out the solution as he went along. Kenma wracked his clouded brain. No, he hadn't eaten anything, but it hadn't been that long. He shouldn't have reacted that way, it didn't make sense.

Grimacing, more of his faculties returned to him, enough to open his eyes and take stock of his position. 

His head was throbbing, but it was marginally better with him no longer standing. If he was hungry, he didn't feel it. Kuroo's cat patterned blanket was warm where it had been tucked over him; he had always stolen it from him when they watched movies on the couch because it was his favorite. Kuroo had always let him, for whatever reason. He was glad to have it with him now. Clustered nearby were Bokuto and Yaku, both of them sporting cautious expressions.

Yaku was the first one to break, his entire posture stiffening as he grew more fearsome.

"What were you thinking, Kenma? It's been more than two days, you have to feed yourself! I know what's going on is terrible but you can't do anything if you don't take care of yourself first."

' _More than two days_ ,' Kenma repeated inwardly, mind turning over the admonishment. It didn't seem possible he could have been waiting all that time. But apparently that was the truth. He should be more shocked, probably, but nothing was worth the energy right now.

Goaded by the force of Yaku's glare wracking through him, he lifted his head to reply. It was the least he could do.

"Didn't realize," he began, voice subdued, and then took a pause. The implications of the older male's words chose then to sink in, the stretch of time telling its own tale. Kenma's eyes watered.

"You haven't heard anything from Kuro." He didn't need to ask to know the answer, but it was out there anyway.

"No, no one has," Yaku confirmed sadly.

"Kenma."

Bokuto was making himself known for the first time that entire exchange, and despite how unusual the quiet was for him, given the situation it was reasonable. He seemed fidgety when Kenma turned his direction, rocking in his seat the way he inevitably did when he was holding something back, be that excess vitality or something he wanted to say that he couldn't yet.

He waited.

"I've been thinking. I'll admit I thought he'd show up the next day, and it'd be over. But you know, and I know, and even Yaku-kun here knows that this isn't like Kuroo. He wouldn't want you to worry, especially, not like you are right now. I don't think he-" Bokuto faltered, fingers scrunching into the fabric of his pants and gripping them tightly like some makeshift anchor. The way his frame bowed, despondent but trying to maintain his composure, outclassed any other time he'd fallen into one of his dejected states. He looked pained.

"I don't think, wherever he is, he can do anything about that."

Kenma bristled at the suggestion. His first instinct wasn't to mull over Bokuto's point because there was no point there to consider. 

Kuroo was fine, or he would be. He just had to come home, and he would when he felt like it. They couldn't hold him to the same standards as any other time he'd cut people off to get over something.

By the tone of the notes he'd left, Kuroo had been in love with him for a while, and admitting that wasn't something he took lightly. Fear of rejection was crippling, and it wasn't as if Kuroo possessed boundless confidence. He slogged through periods of uncertainty just as often, maybe more often than some people. Despite the probability that his confession would be accepted, he'd doubtless let that fear rule his actions.

Bokuto was wrong. Overreacting just as much as Kuroo was by running away. Did he really think he was laying in a ditch somewhere, or whatever the hell he meant by saying that? The whole concept and the lack of faith incensed him.

"He is fine," Kenma stated, each syllable laced with the air of a threat. "I don't know what he thinks he's doing, but he'll come home soon."

"I want to believe that too, but this is really weird. I just think that we should take this more seriously.... It's not like him to disappear without telling anyone! He didn't seem like he felt like running the last time I talked to him, either. What if he got in an accident somewhere?"

"Just because he isn't talking to anyone doesn't mean he's _dead_."

That round, he couldn't contain his anger, so he let it lend his words more punch. Glaring in Bokuto's direction, he curled his fingers into the blanket he was wrapped with. Between them, he caught Yaku's gaze darting warily back and forth.

"I don't want to think it either but he could be, Kenma."

"You're wrong," he hissed as the atmosphere in the room began to buzz with mounting electricity.

"Bokuto, leave it alone for now. Just tell him your idea," Yaku intervened, crouching forward in his seat like he was prepared to physically shut down any bickering.

When Kenma thought back to the years they'd played together, he'd always been more likely to be at the center of a squabble than resolving it. Still, the warning proved sufficient enough for Bokuto to backtrack, getting out his next words at a calm pace. Unfortunately it didn't make them go over any smoother than anything else he'd already said. 

"Right, okay. So... I think we should go to the police and file one of those missing persons things. Since we're the last people to have contact with him, you know? That way-"

"I won't do it."

Tucking his chin against his chest, Kenma receded into the covers. There were likely two stares trained on him, judging, or at least one of them would judge. Yaku hadn't offered his side of things yet, but taking action was more his style. Not without caution, but if it was between sitting back and waiting to see how things played out or making his own fate, he'd always spring for the latter. Being quick and decisive had served him well on the court. He probably sided with Bokuto but didn't want to come out and say it.

Ignoring the onlookers, he started to map out an explanation for his stance. He didn't have to justify himself to Bokuto of all people. And they were both free to do as they wanted. He wasn't stopping him. He just didn't want to be dragged. And perhaps he was a bit irritated still that Bokuto was bent on entertaining the worst case scenarios. He had no interest in following suit because unlike most things, he couldn't view it objectively. Imagining that outcome would chip away at the last vestige of endurance he had for getting through waiting for Kuroo.

Somehow he had to clarify that point.

"I feel like I have... no, I need to do something. We can go do this, talk to the cops, and they'll keep an eye out. If Kuroo wanders back on his own, no big deal. Kenma, it's no big deal. Why won't you?"

"I'm choosing to believe in him," he intoned quietly, not lifting his head. His breaths coiled between his skin and the blanket, hot and draining. But even if it was harder to get enough air, he didn't feel like moving from that one spot. "I've known him longer than you, and he's never let me down. He hasn't ever let you down that I remember either."

That silenced Bokuto for an extended period, enough time for him to reflect on how harsh that had come out. But he wasn't jumping to retract his observation either. It wasn't fair to pull the years he'd had with Kuroo before they met as a card to lord over him, but maybe it would drive home the point enough to get him to understand where he was coming from on this issue.

"No, you're right. Kuroo's never let me down when I needed him."

When finally Kenma glanced up, Bokuto's eyes were swimming with tears, the golden tint to the irises poignant as a backdrop. The slight nudge of guilt he'd felt in his gut inflated into a gaping wound when faced with the results of his careless gamble. It probably wasn't worth it. In that moment it didn't seem worth it at all.

Bokuto sniffled, earning him a pat on the back from the third presence in the room. Kenma's lips pursed. The urge to return to avoiding his stare was powerful, but now he felt responsible so he couldn't. It was almost incredible how someone of his size and normally larger-than-life energy was capable of endearing himself at these times, at earning people's sympathy. But you couldn't help but to want to comfort him.

"...That's why I don't want to let him down if he's out there and needs me. What if he really is in trouble and needs us to find him, Kenma? I don't care if it's overreacting, I, it's-" another sniffle, and he stopped, face scrunching painfully as he ruminated on something. Whatever it was seemed to worsen his condition, his breathing becoming audible, shallow. He trembled. Yaku leapt to continue rubbing his back, but to no avail. Across from him, Kenma's eyes went wide.

He recognized a bad sign when he saw one. Especially when the motions were so familiar to him. Only, he wasn't just worried because it was happening, no, he was afraid of _why_ it was happening.

At the same time he knew he was treading an exceedingly thin line. Feeding into Bokuto's breakdown was the last thing he wanted if he could avoid it, but he was on the verge of some declaration, was building himself up for it, and he needed to know what that was.

Kenma's own heart began to pound in his chest as he watched him take labored breaths, struggling with the words caged within him. His whole body felt tense, brittle enough to shatter if whatever was about to be said was terrible enough.

"Take a breath, Bokuto," he found himself instructing calmly, lying with his outward reaction. "Then tell us."

It was a credit to Yaku's perception that he didn't move from his spot to shoot Kenma a disbelieving stare. For the first time since their arrival, he had to wonder why Bokuto had dragged him along into this mess.

Yaku and Kuroo were close also, but he was uninvolved with the situation currently. He never had made those other phone calls the first night; Bokuto was the only one he'd contacted. Half because he was the person he most trusted to know Kuroo other than him, and half because he'd been too drained to make any additional effort. Yaku could only be there for him, because Bokuto didn't think he could get through to him on his own, or as a buffer because he knew he'd have to say something that-

It was a blessing that Bokuto found his tongue in that second, otherwise Kenma wasn't sure he wouldn't have changed tactics and needled the answers from him out of sheer desperation.

"I'm sorry Kenma, really sorry, please don't hate me-'

Kenma's face froze on a petrified look, and he waited, not trusting himself to speak.

"It's my fault. I told him... he was really nervous about confessing to you," Bokuto sucked back some of the phlegm so that he could breathe. His gaze constantly shifted, to him, to his lap, more so the latter. "Nothing I said calmed him down, so I told him to get out and take a walk, see if that cleared his head. Kuroo... Kuroo wasn't going to run away or anything. He said something before we got off the phone about when your train was supposed to get there, that he couldn't go too far if he wanted to beat you back to his place."

It was an explanation that left no room for doubt. No time for Kuroo to unexpectedly change his plans, for there to be a hopeful reason for his disappearance. It effectively cut through what he'd been clinging to, nullifying the chance that it was a misunderstanding. He wasn't absent by choice.

Kenma's eyes stung, wetness beading at the corners as the truth sunk in. Two days already he'd sat there like a fool, stubbornly believing what he wanted to and making no move to look for him.

He shouldn't have waited. Even when it was harmless and he'd gotten lost walking around the city, not seeing what streets he was turning down because he was too focused on his phone or console, Kuroo hadn't waited for him to wander back. He'd gone looking for and quickly found him, before he could get too far off track. Why couldn't he have done the same in this instance?

Shrugging the blanket off his shoulders, he sat up straighter, determination tinged with guilt propelling his movements.

Kenma sighed, the sound shakier than it would be normally.

"We should... let's do the report. I've already wasted enough time. If anyone's made a mistake, then it's me."

When he glanced around at the other two, Yaku was shaking his head.

"Both of you," he grumbled in exasperation, "stop feeling sorry for yourselves! Neither of you did anything wrong!"

"Maybe," Kenma hedged, staring down at his lap, "But I know that if anything happens, I'll carry that with me forever. In time, you two can get over it, but I never will. Kuro's more than my friend, and I'll always wonder. If I had been more proactive, if we had talked more honestly sooner... how it could have gone different."

Swallowing back some of the tension in his throat, he cemented his resolve.

"But for now, we have to do what we can to bring him home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a difficult one to write, harder than the first two were. I just couldn't seem to get into a groove with it, so it took me longer than I wanted to spend to actually finish it. Hopefully it turned out okay, but let me know what you think! :3 
> 
> Thanks for your continued support and comments, guys, I appreciate you!
> 
>  **Tumblr:** [@risquetendencies](http://risquetendencies.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long to get out. I wound up getting sidetracked by a few one-shots, some of which are published and others yet to come (I'm participating in HQ Hols fic exchange and I'm doing HQ Big Bang too later in the summer). 
> 
> As always, thanks so much to anyone who's shown love to this fic, be it just reading, kudoing, or most of all, commenting! I appreciate you, and all of this only fuels my desire to keep writing!
> 
> Lastly, thanks to [@newamsterdam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/newamsterdam/works) for looking this chapter over for me. Please go check out her amazing magical AU's.

Glancing up from his phone, he barely had time to sidestep the ball hurtling toward him. In a feat of agility though, Kenma shifted to the left, leaving it to smack against the gym wall with a deafening slap.

There was a reason why sitting outside on the steps when he was taking a break was safer, and it went by the name Lev. Nekoma's supposed future ace who possessed abundant height and power aplenty, but was stunted by a severe lack of coordination.

If he had to explain the deficit, Kenma probably would have said that there was too much of a good thing when it came to his height and that it simply made it harder to control where his limbs would go. They'd been trying for two years now to correct that problem. It only helped sometimes, and granted when it worked, he was near unstoppable. But he wasn't at any sort of peak yet.

After checking to make sure there were no other projectiles coming his way, Kenma returned to thumbing around his game.

It was one he'd played through a couple of times already. Lately, replaying older titles seemed easier than switching to something new. They required less brainpower, and going through the familiar levels was soothing in its repetitiveness. He could zone out as much as he wanted when he knew what obstacles he'd be facing next.

Sitting back a little on the bench, he watched the cut scene unfold. The mercenary he was controlling donning casual clothes to enter the town's alehouse. A boisterous crowd inside the building carrying on a dozen different conversations, several of them possible job opportunities for his character. The means to a reward to aid him later in the quest. Only, some paths led to more valuable rewards than others, and he had to choose which would help the most in the long term.

Luckily he already knew which one to opt for.

"We're all dying out here and-"

The whisper that had snagged his attention went forcefully quiet, silenced by some other person maybe. Kenma's hands stilled, but he didn't blink, didn't raise his head from the screen below. If he thought hard enough, he could probably guess the rest even if it never was spoken aloud.

' _But like they'd ever miss a chance to complain,_ ' he quipped inwardly as the whispering returned, louder and more insistent even if the speaker thought he was keeping it under wraps.

"Our vice captain... just sitting there half the time doing jack shit! Who cares if he's good in matches? You gotta earn your place there, not by being some lazy-"

Kenma glossed his tongue over his bottom lip, just enough to feel how chapped it was. He considered moving outside to the steps as he normally did, but it was cold to the point where wearing his track jacket wouldn't keep him from shivering. On the other hand, sitting there any longer wasn't appealing either. He could already feel his stomach knotting from the first years' conversation, and he knew from experience it wouldn't go away unless he removed himself. Sometimes not even then.

There was then the sound of an impact and a surprised noise from the underclassman who'd been ranting. Kenma looked up at that, noting the interval appearance of a volleyball in the guy's arms. Probably freshly caught, though from the sound of it, not without it smacking into his chest beforehand. He looked mildly stunned, which was good. It must've come at him fast.

"Your turn~!"

From his periphery, he glimpsed Lev walking over, earnest smile stretching his features. But that was nothing new. The concept of Lev taking a break willingly when they were doing spiking practice was new, though.

"Finally done hogging the ball, Haiba-senpai?"

"Even the ace has to rest sometimes!" Lev shot back cheerfully, plopping down on the bench beside him. Kenma turned back to his console, fighting against the way his lips wanted to twitch from a frown into something else.

He wondered how long the first year would feel the bruise that was probably forming where the ball had struck. Not that it'd be anything serious, but catching something like that with any part of your body other than your hands left an impression. He knew that from experience also.

"What are you playing, Kenma-san?"

Normally, he wouldn't bother, but he felt Lev had probably earned himself a response.

"Curse Hunter."

"Oh!" the younger exclaimed, and then a second later, "I don't know that one!"

"It's older," Kenma murmured patiently.

"Are there monsters in it?"

"...Dragons... witches, and things. Nothing too unusual."

"Oh. Hmm," Lev slid closer, gazing down at the screen intently, "What's this part about then?"

Kenma gingerly scooted a little more to the side, reestablishing a gap between them. Not as much as he would on any other day, but then again, Lev didn't seem so bad today, comparatively.

"You have to choose the next mission for the character you're controlling to go on. There's a couple people here who will give you ideas of where to head. Like," he guided the mercenary to one of the tables in the alehouse and had him interact with a patron.

"This one's talking about the dragon sighting in another town."

"So that's where you should go next. Fighting a dragon would be cool!" Lev remarked, animatedly gesturing the swing of a sword. Kenma blinked at the sideshow he was performing once, and then he turned back to the game.

"That's not what I'm doing."

"Huh? Why not?"

"You have to go on a different side quest first. To get the spell that will help you freeze the dragon's fire. So you can beat it in the first place. Otherwise you'll just die."

Instead of commenting, Lev watched him maneuver the character over to another of the patrons in the alehouse, the one who would get him started on the proper task. The longer he remained silent, the more the rest of the sounds in the gym dulled around them. Soon the only thing Kenma was aware of was the feeble chorus of the background music and the beeping every time he sped through one of the dialogues by clicking through it without taking the time to read.

He relaxed into the tranquility of playing, letting himself get carried away in the tide, and when he glanced up next, he was surprised to see that the gym was quiet because it was all but empty. 

When he searched around, he caught Lev's attention where he was rummaging around in his sports kit a few feet away.

"Are you done, Kenma-san?"

Kenma wanted to scoff at the assumption. Thinking ahead about his night, he'd probably be playing for several more hours.

At least until it was late enough to justify sleeping. He couldn't be without a distraction lately, or his mind would start down a dangerous line of thought. Of course, whenever he slept he also dreamed, and that usually wasn't much better. Whether it was a nightmare or not, Kuroo was present in the majority of them. He couldn't avoid thinking of him like he could when he was awake.

"Yeah."

Standing, he located his own bag on the sidelines and slung it over his shoulders.

Several minutes after that found them walking down to the Nekoma bus stop. The sky above was run through with midnight blue, the city haze blurring any of the stars that might have shone there otherwise. Most of the streetlamps had already switched on, illuminating the road with their harsh fluorescent glare.

Lev paused when they reached the bench there on the sidewalk, turning to face him.

Kenma raised an eyebrow. They normally both walked home. Not together, because it tended to be his prerogative to spend as minimal time with Lev as possible, but neither of them rode the bus with how close they lived to campus. They lived in roughly the same neighborhood, just a handful of streets apart.

"I'll say goodnight to you here," he explained, a smile dawning on his face. "I'm gonna visit Yaku-san for the weekend!"

"Okay." Kenma turned as if to leave, but on second thought, circled around. "Good night," he offered up softly.

"Um, before you go, Kenma-san. Can I ask you something?"

He braced himself for whatever the question wound up being.

"Whenever I try to compliment Yaku-san, he doesn't seem to believe me. Am I... not trustworthy, or? Should I not do it?"

Kenma's face crinkled. That one was out of the realm of what he'd imagined by far.

"You want... relationship advice?" he said disbelievingly.

"Yes! I thought I could ask you since you don't like being complimented either. Or any attention, I think, right? Like our team speech, you hate it because it's about you."

"I don't hate it. I think it's corny," he clarified in a monotone, "and yeah, I'd rather we stopped using it."

"But you never told us to stop, not really, right? So then is it fine, or, were you just putting up with it? That's what I'm worried with about Yaku-san. He doesn't tell me not to say things, but he's not comfortable with it." Lev trailed off there, a shadow crossing his face that mirrored the intensity of him at full focus in any given match.

Too intense, in his opinion, and the whole fact that he was being questioned about something like this felt inexplicably awkward to Kenma.

He sighed, fatigue bleeding through the sound.

He wanted to go home, not waste his time dealing with whatever issues Lev in a relationship had. He didn't want to _know_  anything about Lev in a relationship, considering most days he didn't want to have anything to do with Lev, period. Today was a special exception, and hopefully not the beginning of a regular occurrence.

What wisdom did he really have offer anyway? He doubted Yaku had the same issues he did, so it wasn't like he'd know how to fix them.

Something clicked in his brain upon thinking that, and Kenma blinked at the unexpected epiphany.

Well, it was a sort of answer.

"I think if you're wondering something about him, you should ask him why yourself," he responded neutrally. "He's the only one who can tell you how he feels."

Lev's expression brightened, but then quickly dulled again. Not as dark as before, but decidedly lacking in punch.

"I sort of asked him once, but maybe I wasn't clear enough. Hmm," he hummed, looking thoughtful. "I'll just try again. Thanks, Kenma-san!"

On the whole, Kenma wondered if he'd even helped, but he wasn't quite invested enough to worry about it. There was still time before graduation for Lev to bother him again if he was determined on doing so and his advice tonight fell through. And he knew he could count on hearing about it if it did.

"Going home," he muttered, wanting to get it out there before his departure was prolonged any further. Which given present company, was only a matter of time.

"Okay, 'night! Get good rest, Kenma-san!" Lev twittered loudly despite their proximity.

The last thing he thought before he turned the corner was that for all the extraneous time they'd spent together that night, Lev hadn't once brought up the subject he most wanted to avoid. And that, if he didn't know any better, he might have thought Yaku hadn't told him about Kuroo. But he did know better, which left him with an even more disconcerting thought.

Somewhere along the way, and against all odds, Lev had learned tact.

 

* * *

 

Keeping his head bowed, Kenma walked the familiar path home, paying little mind to his surroundings except the concrete directly beneath his feet. He’d travelled the same way countless times; he could make the trip blind at this point, even with all the turns and waiting to be able to cross from one block to another. It didn’t require much thought, which was perfect.

Ever since it had sunk in that Kuroo really was missing, he felt like he’d been going through life holding his breath. Not focusing on anything too much, welcoming distractions. He was still waiting, with the small change of looking after the basics. No matter what anyone, not Bokuto, not Yaku said, he couldn’t switch off that response.

There were many things he wished he was capable of. Organizing some huge search party, handing out posters, combing the city streets on his own to ask if anyone had seen Kuroo. Just plain doing anything more than existing in a state of limbo, waiting for his best friend to materialize. Half the reason he didn't want to think too hard was to avoid letting the guilt claw any deeper.

He wasn’t capable of anything useful, though.

Going in with the others and contributing to the missing person's report had been difficult beyond measure. It was lucky that they’d seemed more interested in talking to Bokuto than him, being that he was the last person to speak to Kuroo.

The questions he’d been asked had seemed mind-numbingly typical, the kind that were repeated constantly in crime dramas on television. When did you see him last, when were you last in contact? Was he having any problems in his life that you know of? Is there anyone who bears a grudge toward him or who might want to cause him harm? Any enemies?

Kuroo didn’t make enemies. He argued with people now and then, and he loved to banter with people who could handle his sarcasm, but at his core, he was too nice to inspire hatred. As for problems, the only one Kenma could come up with was the reason that had gotten him lost in the first place.

Worrying about how his confession would be received.

It was such a pure and stupid thing to fret about that Kenma got angry thinking about it. Angry with himself, in some ways, for being so locked up inside his own head that Kuroo had grown anxious about not being able to guess his reaction.

Even if he tried to reason that Kuroo hadn't given him the chance to show a reaction, that they'd never even got that far and that if they had, there wouldn't have been anything to second guess, he couldn't convince himself. Time and time again, he circled back around to the notion that the whole setup with the cards probably wasn't the first time in their lives Kuroo had tried to spell out how he felt. 

Meaning that in the end, it was his fault for feeding Kuroo's self-doubt that he'd ever accept him.

_Dinggg._

A piercing jingle drew him from his thoughts, the sound loud and mechanically cheerful. More importantly, grating to his eardrums.

Kenma directed a furtive look its way, and then stopped in his tracks. The person exiting the store did the same.

"Kozume-san."

His greeting came off smoothly enough, but Kenma's initial observation was that Akaashi didn't seem thrilled to see him. Not that Akaashi usually seemed thrilled about a lot of things, but there was a reluctance present he normally didn't emit. Stiff posture, hand clenched tight around the shopping bag he was holding. Eyes that were far too watchful. Rather than deterring him though, it made him curious.

Which was why he would wait to see what kind of move he'd play.

"You're on your way home from practice?"

Kenma nodded. That was safe, an expected line. If Keiji wanted to shape their conversation he was going to have to try harder.

"Anything new going on with you?" Akaashi ventured.

Something in Kenma rankled. New didn't cover it. What was happening wasn't a new development, it was serious, it could- pausing the rapid train of his thoughts, he frowned, taking a step back internally. Several theories knit together to explain why he'd say that, each of them progressively concerning.

Lowering what he was carrying, Kenma examined his companion.

"When's the last time you talked to Bo?"

Shock illuminated Akaashi's face where normally he had the strength of will to keep his expressions muted. Without a doubt, he hadn't been expecting that question. Or maybe any questions at all apart from mundane ones, ones that had nothing to do with Bokuto. Which explained the forced calm, the boringly polite overtures.

The only thing he didn’t understand was _why_ he was acting that way.

"...It's been a little while."

"How long's a little while?" He arched his brow, stating, "I would have thought he'd tell you what's going on."

"Whatever it is, clearly Bokuto-san and I haven't discussed it. As you're pointing out now," Akaashi snipped, looking at the ground in agitation.

Kenma watched him for a moment or two, almost expecting him to pull some excuse out of thin air to leave. Instead he stood firm, not meeting his eyes but not bolting either. Waiting for something, if he had to guess what his motives were. But what exactly he was expecting, Kenma wasn't certain. He only knew that he couldn't let the topic rest there. Something was weird about his reactions.

"Did you guys fight?"

Akaashi's lips pursed.

"No, that isn't what happened."

"But you aren't talking to him," Kenma surmised, earning a vague nod.

"Not at the moment, no."

"Are you sure it's just for the moment?"

His eyes flickered over Akaashi again, reanalyzing his stiff shoulders, tightly clenched jaw. Perhaps he was overthinking it, but he couldn't help but feel like he was only scraping the surface of the truth there, and that Keiji was purposefully only admitting to whatever bits he happened to guess right. What the whole story was, he wondered if he'd ever know.

He merely knew the parts he'd seen himself, but those were sufficient.

"If it were up to me, yes, it would only be temporary," Akaashi breathed out, lifting his head slightly. "But that isn't how things are."

"So you love him and threw that away, and now you have nothing."

Kenma didn't regret an ounce of the harshness in that statement. It was evident to him where things stood, it had been from the beginning. He'd never said anything before because they were Akaashi's choices, and if he opted for one path over the other, it didn't make much difference to him. It was his risk, and ultimately his reward, so he couldn't sympathize that it hadn't turned out the way he'd wanted.

His words won him Akaashi's full attention, their gazes linking for the first time in many minutes. 

"I hardly think you would know what's on my mind seeing as how you don't inhabit it." His voice verged on anger, but the last vestiges of his control kept it smooth. "What I feel toward Bokuto-san is none of your business. If you want an update, you can tell Kuroo-san that I've done what he asked me to do long ago. You two can theory craft together on your own." 

Then it was his turn to tense up, to grapple with how he wanted to respond.

"Kuro is missing," he eked out, the calm rational thinking he'd employed with Akaashi trickling away to be replaced with feelings he'd been trying to dull. "No one has heard from him for a week now."

' _And maybe not ever again_ ,' his brain reminded him. That was half the reason he'd been trying to set those emotions aside. Preparing for the worst outcome, bracing himself for the rest of eternity if he could. Yet the more he tried to gloss over the absence, the more he'd realized how tightly woven his and Kuroo's lives were. Even Akaashi seemed to think they weren't one without the other.

Or maybe it was just him who was no one without Kuroo.

"That's what I meant when I said if you'd talked to Bo you would know what's going on."

Thunderstruck was probably a good adjective for how Akaashi appeared then, absorbing the news. But then he grew pensive, the fingers of his empty hand sliding against each other restlessly.

"How is Bokuto-san taking all of this?"

"Not well," Kenma answered honestly. "He thinks it's his fault. Kuro disappeared after he told him to go on a walk to clear his head, so Bokuto thinks that means he caused everything by suggesting it. No one really knows what happened though. ....I don't... I don't blame him."

"I see."

Akaashi didn't say anything more than that, but Kenma noticed the lines on his face deepening, a familiar worry taking hold. One that he'd witnessed more than a few times, as had anyone who had spent enough time around him and Bokuto. It was potentially the most genuine thing Akaashi had done their entire conversation.

In the strangest way it reminded him of Kuroo. Both of them, holding back things to stew over, or because they felt they couldn't speak them aloud.

The difference was, Kuroo had taken the plunge and been honest. Keiji was refusing to, no matter how he was provoked.

It was frustrating.

Silence stretched between them for a minute or so, Akaashi buried deep within his thoughts before he thought to spare him a glance. When he did, and noticed the obvious discomfort on his face, he stepped closer, concerned gaze focused on him instead.

"I'm sorry... I know you're probably taking this the hardest with how long you've known Kuroo-san. How are you still so calm?"

"I don't have a choice." Kenma grimaced, the words he was saying rattling painfully inside his chest, driving the pain of that fact home. "No matter how I act, he's gone anyway. I can't _do_ anything about it."

Pausing, he clenched his fingers in a fist, letting the jealousy leave him through the outlet. There was no point in feeling it, and he didn't particularly want to hurt Akaashi. He just wanted to push him in the right direction, being open about his true feelings. Selfishly, because he had hindsight and he could. But also a little for both his and Bokuto's sake, because they were his friends.

"You do have a choice though."

"I don't," Akaashi returned halfheartedly. Somehow the brush off didn't make him feel like he was wrong.

"You do."

"I doubt that, but it's kind of you to say, Kozume-san. ...Is there anything I can do to help? I'm not really in contact with Kuroo-san, but if there's something in my power...."

Kenma shook his head.

"The police are looking. I wouldn't know what else to do."

"You aren't looking?" Akaashi appeared puzzled by the notion, "On your own, I mean? Or Bokuto-san?"

"What can I do that the people whose job it is can't? I don't have any leads to go off of, and I can't-"

He wanted to say that he couldn't go around and ask strangers for information, but the second the thought crossed his mind, Kenma realized how pathetic it truly was. Swallowing back some of the loathing, he tried to believe his own words. That letting the investigators do the searching was best, that he wouldn't achieve anything doing it himself.

The problem was, it wasn't very convincing.

"Bokuto isn't doing anything either... it was his idea to file the missing person report but past that, nothing." Kenma shrugged, the guilt still running circles in the background of his mind. Just when he'd began to forget about it, too.

He needed to be alone.

But that was just what was best for him, not for everyone.

"Even if you don't want to be honest with Bo, he could use a friend there with him. Whatever stopped you two talking, fix it. Or don't, but for right now..." Kenma trailed off, glancing away when he felt Akaashi's gaze on him intensify.

He knew, he knew he was interfering and saying things that he wouldn't bother saying normally. Things he had no business to say. Still, he had to say them. Akaashi could ignore him for all he cared if the advice didn't fit with his plan, but at least he'd tried. Bokuto didn't need to lose two of his best friends at the same time.

“I doubt his mood will improve if I am there.”

“Don’t assume,” Kenma said, fiddling with one of his jacket sleeves. “It’s not like it can get worse.”

“You don’t know how we left things.”

He chanced a glance at Akaashi. His expression was grim.

“No, and you won’t tell me, Keiji, so that’s the best advice I can give you. I just know that I can’t do anything for him. You’re the better shot.”

“You’re capable of more than you let yourself believe you are, Kozume-san,” Akaashi returned simply. And then he sighed before continuing on. “I’ll consider your counsel. I can’t promise that I’ll follow through.”

Kenma nodded. He hadn’t expected to change his mind there on the spot.

“It’s late,” Akaashi remarked. “I think it’s best if we go our separate ways. Once again… if you need anything, or if I can be of help with finding Kuroo-san, let me know.”

He flinched slightly, but managed to pull himself together enough to get out another nod of acknowledgement.

“Thanks.”

“Good night.”

“Bye.”

After exchanging their parting words, Kenma waited a minute or two before setting off, long enough to lose sight of Akaashi’s retreating back.

Around him, the sky was several shades darker than it had been when he’d left school. And several degrees cooler, though he was only just realizing it. The frigid air seeped through his clothing, chilling him. It was enough of a visceral shock to prompt him to start walking again.

Home, to spend another night avoiding his problems. Truthfully, he wasn’t any better than Akaashi when it came to that. It was far easier to be numb than to let the fear and frustration he felt take root.

He had to get used to life being how it was now, had to learn how to function little by little without Kuroo being available to him. Once they found him he could deal with his emotions.

_Bzzt. Bzzt._

Blinking, Kenma pulled his phone from where it was stowed, checking to see who was calling. No contact name flashed across the screen, only an unregistered number that he didn't immediately recognize.

He didn't pick those up, not most times. Texting was fine, but phone calls weren't his favorite thing; he preferred them short and not as a regular occurrence. That being said, he called back and forth with people he knew. Not random numbers.

A pit formed in his stomach as the device continued to ring. ' _I can hang up if it's nothing important,_ ' he thought, fingers tightening around his phone. ' _Answer it, just in case._ '

Easy to say, harder to do. But a part of him hoped that somehow, impossible as it seemed, that if he accepted the call that Kuroo would be on the other end. Safe. Maybe lost, maybe having just gotten himself out of some terrible situation, but safe. Alive, unharmed.

Kuroo's voice was soothing to him. He'd always been aware of that fact on some level, but it was clearer recently now that he was gone. Words of comfort had more impact coming from him than from anyone else, even though Kuroo didn't always work in such a straightforward manner. Teasing the melancholy out of him, poking and goading at something else to make Kenma forget what was originally bothering him. Sometimes words weren't even required.

He'd give anything to hear his voice now.

' _Four rings,_ ' Kenma noted. Whoever was calling was persistent, which in the end, decided him.

Taking a steadying breath, he raised the phone to his ear and answered.

"Hello?"

"Am I speaking to Kozume Kenma?"

The caller's voice was terse, efficient. Not someone who had time for pleasantries, not that he needed those either.

Swallowing back the discomfort that had risen, Kenma inwardly reminded himself that he could hang up at any time. Also that he didn't sound strange; he wasn't saying anything that someone would judge him for. He was just responding to a simple question, with a one word answer. A run-of-the-mill phone call, nothing stressful.

"Yeah."

"My name is Detective Yotsuba, I'm the one who was assigned to the missing persons report you filed a short time ago."

Kenma nodded, despite the fact that the man on the other end couldn't see it. A knee jerk reaction, probably. His mind felt hazy as he thought back to making the report with Bokuto and Yaku, but on the periphery of it all was hope.

Hope for there to be a lead, some break in the case. Even more questions, at this point, he'd accept, because then he could believe that the police were doing their jobs, that if he cooperated and gave them more to work with, they could find Kuroo. It would mean that it wasn't over, so he could deal with answering whatever they asked.

He made a small noise of acknowledgment and then waited.

"You need to come in-"

His pulse fluttered in an upswing, but he ignored that, determined on listening harder. Not getting ahead of himself.

"Or one of the other filers, because we have someone matching your friend's description-" The words settled in his mind, but they weren't... they didn't sound....

"We need you to identify him."

All of the breath he'd been holding in left him in a rush. 


	5. Chapter 5

**. . . . .**

Objectively, the hallway wasn’t a long one. But each step felt like wading through molasses. The constant battle of wanting to be there yet not wanting to be there made the journey near impossible. His limbs weighed heavy and his mind was rife with dread. But he was there, and he had to move forward no matter his fears.

Ducking his head, he avoided the glance of a passerby, brushing past them without any polite acknowledgement. It was tough enough thinking of what he’d do when he reached his destination. He didn’t have the capacity to communicate with strangers.

_Focus_. He needed to focus on being positive. It was true he didn’t know what kind of situation he’d be walking into or how things would go, but there was no use thinking the worst before it happened. Even if all his senses were screaming at him that the worst outcome was exactly what was waiting for him.

It felt like forever since they’d seen each other. But what exactly was a long time, or forever, though? People used the phrases carelessly; it was hard to pin down what “forever” really was. Perhaps it wasn’t quantity, but how glaringly absent that person was from your life. If they were someone very special, a few days or even a few hours might qualify as a long time.  
  
Either way, it had been some time, and now he was moments away from their reunion.

Counting the room numbers as he trekked by, he found the one he was looking for. Needlessly, his eyes drifted toward the placard on the door.

_-Bokuto_ _Koutarou_ -

Keiji stopped there, fingers raising to interlace with his other hand. He pursed his lips, trying to will away the myriad thoughts clouding his brain. This was something that he had to do, if only to clear his conscience for good. Once he’d ascertained Bokuto would be fine on his own, he could leave. Again.

Fingers tugged on knuckles, the joints popping inaudibly. The little shocks of each one loosening pierced through some of his internal resistance, prompting him to suck in a deep, steadying breath.

It had taken a lot of courage to come here, and still he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was making a terrible mistake. That he was doing it for selfish reasons despite it seeming selfless on the surface. Despite Kozume asking him to go.

After all, Bokuto didn’t want to see him anymore.

There wasn’t anything unclear about the termination of their friendship. Being around him was something that Bokuto hadn’t felt equipped to handle, not with the new lines that had been drawn after his confession and the subsequent rejection. Maybe a part of Bokuto hated him now. It was hard to believe that but sometimes Keiji did, when convincing himself that he’d made the right choice wasn’t working.

In any event, it hurt Bokuto more than it helped to have him around, and yet here he was: going to try and comfort a man who had been his closest friend. A man whose heart he had surely broken. It was a terrible plan.

Keiji studied the door in front of him again. It might have been due to the late hour, but this was the quietest it had ever been when he was standing in the spot he was. Normally there was the radio, or television, or the erratic sounds of Bokuto skittering around his apartment getting ready – stuffing messes into cabinets or banging pots around on the stove.

The silence spoke volumes to him. It underlined his motivation in being here.

He needed first-person assurance that Bokuto was surviving; that he wasn’t running himself into the ground in his grief and guilt. Bokuto had always taken things too much to heart. Then again, thinking you’re responsible for the disappearance of one of your friends likely would have had the same depressive effect on anyone. Bokuto wasn’t reacting strangely at all.

In times of need, it wasn’t strange to come together for support, even if you weren’t close outside of that time. This qualified as special circumstances, and it was all the excuse he needed to peek his head in. If Bokuto didn’t want him there, he would say so.

Probably.

Keiji sighed morosely, filing away that thought, reminding himself to be vigilant in making sure that he wasn’t intruding. Considering how hard the first had been, Bokuto might not have it in him to send him away a second time. Reading the situation would be his own responsibility, and he needed not to be selfish. He could not ignore signs that he wasn’t wanted.

He stepped forward, intent on knocking, but he found himself leaping back instead when the door swung open hard and fast. It came to rest with a clang loud enough to make him flinch, which, ironically enough, was the exact same reaction that the person on the other side of the door had upon spotting him.

Bokuto was a mess. Keiji could see that in obvious and not-so-obvious ways.

The haphazardly donned clothes – his shirt was rumpled and half tucked into voluminous gray sweats that hung precariously on Bokuto’s hips, drawstrings unlaced. His hair was flat at the top, the rest fanning out around his head in halfhearted clumps. It seemed like he hadn’t washed the gel out of it, judging by the matted appearance. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with violet skin.

He wasn’t managing on his own at all. That was clear. Realizing that made Keiji’s fingers twitch. Even though he felt the need to set him to rights, his mind wasn’t sure where to begin. And he doubted he was going to have the chance. Bokuto had his phone in one hand, and other than the expected shock from seeing him on his doorstep, he seemed to pulse with anxious energy, adrenaline perhaps.

“I… I gotta go… Kuroo… I gotta go,” he muttered more at thin air than at Keiji, and then shot past him, walking briskly in the direction of the elevators.

Pausing only to make sure that the door to Bokuto’s apartment was shut, Keiji hurried after him.

They fell into step moments later, and somehow, his heart grew both lighter and more painful all at once. He was back beside Bokuto, as it had been before, but it was a fleeting victory and he was aware of that.

As long as Bokuto didn’t object, he would follow him. He just didn’t want to think of what it would feel like when he eventually did object. They had both made their choices, and even though he was beginning to sense that his had been the wrong one, that didn’t mean Bokuto had to forgive him. He didn’t have to agree to talking to him at all.

Once they arrived at their destination, it was possible that the trance would wear off, and Bokuto would realize that, and that would be the end of Keiji’s attempt at reaching out.

Where were they headed?

Something to do with Kuroo-san, or at least that’s what he’d gathered from the mumbling in the doorway. Which left a few, all admittedly bleak options. The most likely of which was a hospital. Keiji knew there was one close to where Bokuto lived; the university’s teaching hospital.

His tongue glossed at his lips to soothe the cracks he felt in them from the cold air. Then he spared a glance at his companion, trying to get a read on his mood. Did Bokuto know what he was walking into? Or had he just heard where they were going was where Kuroo was and decided to take off? He wouldn’t put that past Bokuto, nor blame him for rushing, but it would have been better if he knew what was waiting for them there.  
  
Obviously, he didn’t wish the worst outcome on Kuroo, but if something had happened, and especially if he’d been missing for as long as Kozume had said before being found – things might not be good. At that realization, Keiji felt another surge of protectiveness rumble through him.

He had no right to feel it considering how much pain he’d caused Bokuto in the past year, but it was instinctual and he couldn’t repress it.

Whatever it took, he couldn’t let Bokuto see something like that. Not when the person in danger was his best friend, not even if it would bring closure to the situation. It was too harsh and if Keiji could spare him from one more crushing blow, that was what he was prepared to do.

 

**. . . . .**

 

Kenma’s eyes were burning.

It could be because he hadn’t wanted to so much as blink since he got here. Or he could be about to cry. It was hard to tell when he felt as out of touch with his body as he did now, like his mind had separated to stand before his physical form. The entire world had narrowed down to the space several feet away and directly in front of him. Everything else had faded, dimmed from his notice.

He stared wordlessly through the glass, gaze tracing the paths of wires that vined up from several machines, trailing over the bedsheets and onto a chest that was just barely cresting up and down with each perfunctory breath. There were so many of them, serving functions he could only guess at. It was overwhelming. Terrifying because Kenma had to wonder how things would be different without them there, and just how close of a call it had been.

Slowly, carefully, he moved upward, mapping over the features he knew almost as well as his own. If he was closer, there would probably be visible imperfections, but from his vantage, it was perfect. Kuroo was there and safe; that was all that mattered.

Kenma pressed one hand against the wall. The movement was unconscious, but he knew the rest of him was leaning forward, leaning closer in longing.

“Do we have the right person?” a terse voice beside him inquired.

“Yeah,” he replied without breaking contact with the glass.

He needed to get closer.

Keeping his eyes on the bed as best as he could, Kenma started inching along the glass wall, fingers trailing against the cool surface. It was the closest he had at the moment, but that was about to change. He stopped in front of the door to the room, hand reaching out to curl around the handle.

Then he paused as a worrisome thought struck him.

He wasn’t sure what kind of injuries Kuroo had, or what his condition was. Was he allowed to touch, or get within range? Assuming Kuroo could wake up, was he supposed to let him sleep? To not bother him, even though countless questions that he wanted answered were filling up his head to the bursting point? He didn’t want to impede his recovery, but the facts were simple.

Kuroo was right there and he needed to talk to him. He needed to know that he was whole and present and going to be all right. That was the basic tier of reassurances. From there, there was the incident that had precluded all of this, and those revelations, and-

There was a lot to talk about.

Opening the door, he ghosted through slowly until a hand landed on his shoulder.

It didn’t grip or tug, but it was enough to stop him where he was like reaching the end of the tether on some invisible leash. Gradually, he heard a woman’s voice.

“It’s very late. If you want to visit, you’ll have to come back in the morning.”

For once in his life, Kenma didn’t think.

“Please.”

Just loud enough to be heard, the word slipped through his lips. As the one who’d said it, he could hear the desperation, even if he was too numb to feel the emotion inside of him. It hung in the air for a moment, then fizzled out.

“I’m sorry, but those are the rules and they’re there for a reason. Our patients, more than anyone else in the hospital, need all the rest and quiet they can get. It’s only until the morning and then you’re welcome to come back.”

Kenma wanted to argue, and the notion knotted within him, unfamiliar as it was. He wasn’t assertive like that, normally, but everything she was saying felt supremely unfair. It wasn’t like he was going to be loud or disturb anyone by staying here. He’d be happy to just sit by Kuroo’s bed and keep quiet until he woke up. He wasn’t going to bother anyone.

He’d just gotten Kuroo back. Waiting until the morning sounded like hell.

“I… he’s been gone,” he mumbled uselessly. “I just want to-”

“I only let you two in because this is part of an investigation. I can’t bend the rules any further than that. You’re on the approved guests lists. For the morning.”

That time she gave his shoulder a little authoritative tug. Kenma turned around and recognized the nurse from the desk at the entrance to the ward. The one in charge. She’d looked stern when the detective and he had come in. From the sound of it she didn’t have much sympathy even for necessary exceptions like letting the police work their cases. Clearly, she didn’t like outside influences tampering with her run of things.

She let go.

Shoulders slumping, Kenma reluctantly exited the way he’d came, walking over to rejoin Yotsuba outside Kuroo’s room.

The detective eyed him speculatively.

“I need to talk to you about a few details, anyway,” he said. “There’s a conference room on the ground floor. Let’s head on there.”

It was the last thing Kenma wanted to do, but he had no other options at the moment so he psyched himself up for departure.

In the morning, early enough, he could come back to visit. He could stay most of the day, be there when Kuroo woke up. If he needed to rest, that was fine. So long as he got to be near him, he could deal with putting off talking for a while. The biggest priority was Kuroo's health. Everything else came second. Just a few more hours, and then he would get his chance. It wasn't like Kuroo was going anywhere now.

Still... before any of this had happened, he'd had no indication that Kuroo would disappear like he had. Life, even when it appeared normal, was cruelly uncertain.

If he could just stay now, stay with Kuroo, it would be easier to calm down from what he'd been feeling the past week.

"I brought you water. Are you all right?"

Blinking, Kenma stared up, and realized with a jab of confusion that he was sitting down. Standing next to him was Yotsuba, extending a cup toward him. Reeling a little from the new surroundings and unsure of how his feet had gotten him there in one piece, he accepted the water. He sipped tepidly at it, more out of distraction than need.

His actions seemed to suffice as an answer for the detective, who then circled around the table to sit across from him. Kenma lowered the cup, wondering what he was about to hear. Hopefully the entire explanation of what had happened to Kuroo. What he really wanted to know above all else was how he would recover, but that probably wasn't information that the cops had.

"Someone on their way home from work found him several days ago." Kenma's eyes snapped to the detective's mouth, fixing on it as he spoke. "He was in an alley off to the side. It's not on any main road, so it's lucky that anyone came by and noticed. Up until now the hospital had no idea who he was, but once we started checking into the case, they contacted us that they had someone matching the description you gave."

"From what we can piece together, we believe it was a hit-and-run. A low speed one, given the area and the fact that he wasn't killed, but that's where the scene leads us."

Kenma gripped the cup tight, focusing on Yotsuba and everything he was saying.  
  
He absolutely couldn't start thinking about what it meant, or nothing else would permeate. He had all night to travel down those darker avenues. It was better to learn the details now, while he still had the presence of mind to remember them.

"We believe your friend was moved from where the initial impact occurred to where we found him. It seems likely that whoever hit him was hoping that he wouldn't be found until he succumbed to his injuries. It's a longshot, but he could identify the driver."

Across the table, the detective leaned back in his chair, eyes scanning over Kenma for a reaction. There was no immediate one.

All he was doing was sitting there, staring at the wood grain of the table's surface. Thinking about nothing as hard as he could. The cup skittered a short distance, upset by the trembling of his fingers. Kenma retracted his hand, laying it on his lap instead. He couldn't trust that he wouldn't knock it over again if he kept trying to hold onto it.

Though it was only water. It wouldn't ruin anything if he did spill it. It might even distract him.

Yotsuba coughed. Kenma glanced at him once and then looked away.

"I know we asked you this during the initial report, but are you sure there's no one who might have done this on purpose? No one you knew that had a grudge, or anything like that?"

"I'm sure."

"We don't have any real clues yet."

He stared at a painting at the wall that depicted daisies in a coral-colored vase. It was bland, a piece of stock art probably. The kind of thing he wondered why people bothered with if no one really liked them. His grandma had always admired the ones at doctor's offices or hotels, but Kenma couldn't say he understood it. If you were going to decorate with art, shouldn't it be special? Something worth looking at, something unique?

"A lot of these cases go cold eventually. Unless we find someone who saw what happened or the car is dumped and we find evidence still on it."

Evidence probably meant blood. Kuroo's blood. The last thing he wanted to think about was pieces of his best friend lining the bumper of some stranger's car. Kenma shifted his gaze toward the whiteboard on another wall. It was wiped clean, but he could pick out the marks in one section that had been written too firm to clear away. Strokes of orange and green pen that weren't legible to him.

Blood on metal and staining the concrete; there had to be plenty of it even if there wasn't anything from the car that caused the wreck. But none of it would help solve the case.

Kuroo wasn't evidence.

"There's always that chance we get a lucky break, but the odds are low. I just want to be clear about that."

Hearing that, Kenma continued looking around the room.

He didn't care about finding the person and revenge wasn't on his mind. If what the police believed was true, it was terrible what had happened. But it wasn't intentional, and honestly, he'd trade a conviction for the sheer fact that Kuroo was breathing several floors above them. That was more than enough, and as the days had rolled on without him, Kenma had worried he wouldn't even get that much.

In its own way, life was harder right now than a few hours ago. The best outcome he'd been hoping for, Kuroo being found, had happened. Only he didn't know if he would get through the healing process. And they hadn't managed to have a conscious moment together yet. Everything he'd been pining for was within his grasp, but he had to wait until the morning to seize it.

Somehow, he'd have to force himself to sleep. That way he could be awake when he visited and he wouldn't miss anything.

Pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket, Kenma tapped through to the alarm app. He paused for a moment, carefully estimating how long getting ready and coming back to the hospital from his house would take. He'd have to take one of the earlier trains to get there the moment visiting hours started. With that in mind, he set two alarms, just to be sure. He didn't think he'd need more than the first, or really even any alarm, but it would be stupid not to prepare at all.

"Well, I guess since I don't have anything else new to share, you can go. Do you have someone who can pick you up?"

Not looking up from the text he'd started to write, Kenma shook his head.

"It's late for a high school kid to be out, even if you are almost graduated. I can call a taxi."

"I'll walk."

Maybe it wasn't the ideal method of getting home, or even what the detective wanted to hear from him, but he didn't care. He was hoping that if he was lucky, the extra effort might tire him out enough to sleep. Even though Kenma knew he needed the rest, he wasn't sure how he was supposed to get it now.

Regardless of the good that had happened tonight, he was still in limbo.

> **From** : applepi 
> 
> **To** : BoHootO
> 
> _university hospital icu. visiting starts at 0800_

 

**. . . . .**

 

They had indeed ended up at the hospital not far from Bokuto's apartment, which, altogether, was better than some of the other locations Keiji had thought about on their walk over.

Hospitals were places for healing, which meant there had to be at least the slimmest ray of hope intact. Though, with the way Bokuto was behaving, it was obvious that he couldn't see that hope from within his own fog. The best way to describe him at the moment was sullen.

He was sitting on a couch across from where Keiji leaned on a wall, mumbling under his breath darkly as his fingers twitched on top of his knees.

It had been like that for the past several minutes, ever since Bokuto had spoken to the charge nurse running the ward Kuroo was being treated in and she'd denied him access.

A part of Keiji wanted to sit beside him, but thus far he'd been too cowardly to act on it. His presence wasn't going to change anything; Bokuto had barely acknowledged him this entire time apart from their initial encounter. Either he was ignoring him, or Bokuto was too far detached to pay attention. More likely the second was the cause, but realizing that didn't make him feel any better, or lessen his overwhelming concern.

Yet, it seemed that nothing he said or did would register until Bokuto's goal of seeing his best friend was met. He also didn't seem likely to move from that spot until it happened. Just thinking about standing for so long was enough to make Keiji feel weary, so he brushed aside his unease and walked over, lowering himself onto the opposite end of the couch.

He needed to attempt to reason with him.

"Bokuto-san, it's late. They aren't going to let anyone visit Kuroo-san at an hour like this."

He wanted to add that it would probably be better if Bokuto had tried to put on a proper outfit and maybe combed his hair, but that was him being too critical. As silly as it seemed to do those things when you were desperate to see someone, Keiji knew the staff likely was biased that way. They'd be less likely to help a person who seemed like they had come off the street.

And perhaps a part of him would feel better if Bokuto didn't look so forlorn. That was probably the real truth he was trying to bite back.

Bokuto's state of mind was manifesting even in his appearance, and it was hard to look at him. It was even harder to acknowledge that as much as he'd hurt Bokuto's feelings, he wasn't at the center of his melancholy now. He couldn't even gain Bokuto's attention with how hyperfocused he was elsewhere.

It was uncomfortable, unusual, and he wanted it to stop.

Keiji zeroed in on where Bokuto was holding his phone in one hand.

The screen was dark, but if he could just get to it, he knew Bokuto didn't bother locking his phone. He knew that because in high school Bokuto had gotten locked out of his phone because he'd picked something obscure that no one else knew and that he'd long since forgotten. Eventually, he'd had to take it in for a technician to crack the code, and from then on, he hadn't used a lock screen.

He watched Bokuto's fingers tighten around the phone unconsciously and like a thin wisp of smoke, the urge faded.

Even if he was feeling desperate in his own way, Keiji knew it was a terrible idea. Invading Bokuto's privacy was wrong. If he couldn't get his attention or the answers he wanted organically, then he was just going to have to live with that.

"Sitting here won't do you any good. It would be better if you went home and came back in the morning, after you get some rest. You seem like you could use some sleep."

Bokuto tilted his chin up and began staring at the ceiling.

"I know you really want to see Kuroo-san but he's resting right now, too. You wouldn't want to bother him. He isn't going to disappear if you go home for now," Keiji continued as earnestly as he could.

But his target remained unconvinced, spine stiff and busy tracing the seams of the ceiling panels with glazed eyes. If Keiji didn't look closely, it almost seemed like he wasn't breathing, either, with how quiet Bokuto was. He wondered if he could hear him, wherever his mind had flown off to. The lack of response to everything he was saying was concerning, even if it wasn't the first time he'd seen Bokuto in a low.

None of those times had been pleasant, but at least Bokuto hadn't hated him in addition to not talking to him because of what he was going through. Tonight was uniquely difficult because of that factor. Keiji wondered if he was wasting his time.

"I don't have to be here," he said finally, defeated.

What good had he done in following Bokuto here? Anything? Kozume might have thought he could help Bokuto through it, but that was proving to be a fool's hope. Bokuto didn't care about him anymore. Keiji didn't hold any influence, he couldn't be the voice of reason if Bokuto was treating him like he didn't even exist.

Beside him on the bench, Bokuto's lips and brows drew together in a scowl. His eyes didn't leave the ceiling for a second.

"Fine. Sit here all night then," Keiji muttered.

Still, his body didn't move, wouldn't move to leave. Instead, inside, it felt like everything within was being compressed, flattened completely to kill whatever sympathy he had. _He_ was the fool for giving into the part of him that had wanted to see Bokuto, the one part that held out against the rest telling him - rightly - that it would only hurt.

It hurt much worse than he could have anticipated.

Bokuto used to hold him in the highest regard, and now he was nothing to him. Or at least not important enough to acknowledge. Honestly, it was almost laughable how badly things had turned out. He'd been trying to spare them both this kind of pain by rejecting-

Grimacing, Keiji dug the fingers of one hand into his other forearm. Feeling the pressure snapped his mind back to a more logical train of thought.

He wasn't wrong for making that choice; it only seemed that way because of how miserable he felt right now. Looking at things objectively, he felt guilty because he was hurt, and because Bokuto was hurting, but the circumstances weren't connected.

Long term, he'd been right about turning Bokuto down. He just hadn't anticipated losing his friendship. People were supposed to be able to be friends, even if one of them had felt more, right? There were plenty of examples in shows, novels, and other narratives. It was documented, so it had to be true in real life to be written that way. But he should have guessed that someone as capricious as his former captain wouldn't follow suit. Bokuto had always had a way of barreling through life outside of the usual boundaries.

He was extraordinarily hard to pin down. The best Keiji could do was run through different possibilities sometimes and guess at his most likely course of action. Of course, after two years and many opportunities, he'd thought he knew Bokuto well enough to predict how he'd react to just about anything. He'd been counting on that knowledge.

Apparently he'd miscalculated himself right out of Bokuto's life instead.

Looking up, Keiji scanned the hallway, trying to think of how he was going to get home. It was late, so it might be more prudent to call a taxi despite the cost, but he wasn't put off by walking home either. 

Everything around where they were sitting was sterile and quiet, the space containing not even a breath of life within it. Which was useful if someone was trying to zone out while they were waiting, but eerie if the mind wasn't occupied. He wasn't particularly fond of it himself. All the more reason to leave.

Just then, he heard footsteps break in from the periphery, growing steadily louder as the seconds went on. A woman strode past them, her eyes fixed ahead to wherever she was going. Keiji watched her for a moment or two, and then it occurred to him.

"Wasn't that her?"

Bokuto turned to squint in his direction.

"The one you spoke to just a moment ago," Keiji clarified. The nurse disappeared around the corner toward the elevators.

Slowly, like a knot unravelling piece by piece, the tension in Bokuto's face was replaced with a new, smoother front. He darted a glance to where the hallway ended and then back at Keiji. Realization seemed to dawn on him then, just as gradually.

Witnessing the process play out before his eyes was enough confirmation for Keiji. It was the same woman. Most importantly, she'd been wearing a coat and a purse.

"Yeah, that's her," Bokuto spoke, almost in awe of their good fortune. "You think she's going home?"

"It certainly seems that way," Keiji agreed, carefully monitoring his tone.

He didn't want to any of what he was saying to come off as too hopeful, but those two sentences represented the first time Bokuto had spoken to him directly all night without it being a fluke. He couldn't help but feel relieved. Still, it didn't mean anything in the larger scheme of things. It, like them seeing the departure of the nurse who'd thrown a wrench in Bokuto's planned visit, was a mere coincidence.

Bokuto scrambled off the couch. Keiji followed, trailing behind the brisk pace he set. In no time they were back at the intensive care ward where they'd started. Bokuto went to talk to the new woman staffing the nurses' station.

Keiji wondered if he got blocked from visiting again if he would finally agree to go home. Probably not, given how stubborn he was being, but it was worth another round of persuasion. Just because the shift had changed didn't mean Bokuto was going to find someone to bend the rules for him.

"I'm really not supposed to, but..." Keiji frowned. "I can't let you go inside his room, but you can look in for a moment. I don't think that will bother anyone. Just for a minute though, and then you'll have to come back in the morning if you want to visit longer, okay?"

"No, no I get it. Thank you!" Bokuto rushed to say, slightly manic in the way he began repeating his gratitude.

He might have been pleased. Keiji was not.

Truthfully he'd been relieved when they hadn't been allowed in earlier. As much as Bokuto wanted to see Kuroo, Keiji wasn't sure what that would entail. If he had any serious injuries, that would distress Bokuto. He would become even more incorrigible, sink deeper into the funk that he'd already been mired in. It would be detrimental to the point where Keiji thought it'd be best if they didn't take that chance.

No one else seemed to agree, though, so all he could do was brace for impact.

They strode through the unit quietly. The background was a soft hush of low conversation and nurses charting at desks and rolling computers at various intervals. The lighting was dim in comparison to the eye-searing fluorescence of the hallway lights outside. He supposed it was so that people could sleep even if the light shone into their rooms. For whatever reason, it was calming and it gave the appearance that it really was late night outside of the hospital and not some mystery hour that didn't fit in with day or evening.

As they began to slow in their walk, Keiji sucked in a deep breath. Soon more responsibility would fall into his lap, he knew it.

Their guide paused in front of one of the rooms. All the rooms in the unit had glass walls, some with curtains drawn on the inside for privacy. The one they were standing before was completely open, the better for the patient inside to be observed, likely.

Standing to one side of Bokuto, Keiji drowned out the noises he was making and took his own look.

Kuroo-san wasn't a delicately built person, but he seemed diminished in his hospital bed, lost underneath blankets, wires, and a slender oxygen tube fixed around his face. None of his vitality shone through. Thankfully, at least from where they stood, there wasn't anything gruesome to see. It didn't necessarily mean there wasn't such an injury out of sight, though, but he wasn't about to voice that.

"It's really great how many devoted friends he has wanting to see him," the nurse chimed in. "There was a boy about your age here earlier, too."

Kozume, Keiji thought. No doubt he'd been turned away by the woman they'd dealt with before.

"Yeah, well, he'd totally do this if any of us was in the hospital!" He sharply turned his head at the exhilarated tone of Bokuto's voice, almost unable to believe how it sounded. "Kuroo is so great, and he cares a lot about people, you know? He's my best friend!" 

Keiji stepped away from the wall and lowered his head.

For a moment or perhaps a minute, he stood still, not gazing at anything. Somewhere outside his mind, he could hear a continued conversation between the people standing next to him, but the specific words were lost, muddled until they were no more understandable than gibberish. The only ones he knew for sure were the ones he'd heard before his brain began to stutter to a grinding halt.

Despite it being counterproductive, he couldn't help but pick them apart.

_Kuroo is so great_ , Keiji thought, _he's my best friend_.

It was nothing objectively, just a sentiment Bokuto had thrown out into the world because he was relieved. Great was a word that was used to the point of having a hollow ring to it, and these days, a best friend wasn't exclusive to one person anymore. Neither of the words had any gravitas on their own, but they did because Bokuto had said them. Bokuto was sincere; he didn't calculate his words. He said what he felt and it could be taken at face value because of how earnestly he shared his feelings.

Everything he meant by saying it was right there in what was said. It didn't mean anything else. To him.

But Keiji was the one here with Bokuto right now, there in case he needed moral support. To take care of him and make sure he didn't feel any worse than he already did. To help him feel better, if possible. He wanted Bokuto to thrive. Coming over tonight was something Keiji had done in spite of it being a daunting thing for him to do. They weren't talking, they had left off on some of the worst terms, but he had still showed up.

And he had accomplished absolutely nothing at all. Other than proving the voice in his head right that had known Bokuto didn't care about him anymore. He'd known that coming into tonight, but-

But he still couldn't believe it. Couldn't accept the reversal from where they had been just a year ago.

Bokuto confessing to him in the school gardens, bright-eyed and so nervous he'd been sweating bullets while he talked. If he went back to before that moment, they had been inseparable friends, seemingly because of Bokuto's clinginess, but Keiji had never been afraid to tell him no. He'd agreed to all of their outings, the shared lunches at school, their grueling extra practices that were theirs alone. It wasn't something that had been thrust upon him. At first he did it out of his own sense of obligation, but over time, the hours they spent together had become something he'd treasured.

Treasured the sense of pride he felt when Bokuto did well on a test he'd helped him study for, or when the training paid off and he went a set without any errors. How Bokuto would bring snacks for both of them to have later in the day at school, sometimes smuggling it into his book bag for him to find when he least expected it. Or the show they'd started watching together that Keiji never would have touched on his own. He'd watched each new episode, even after things had gone sideways, but it wasn't the same without Bokuto's impassioned commentary jutting in every other scene. It just felt quiet.

Once upon a time, he'd been Bokuto's best friend too.

That was what it boiled down to, wasn't it?

He missed that sense of warmth, the glow of being special to someone else, particularly someone who burned so bright on their own. He missed their companionship, and the arm Bokuto would throw around him sometimes, and the hugs he gave that were full bodied, and-

Keiji stopped when he felt the surge of emotion rising in him. He knew he wouldn't be able to contain it. His stomach had soured the more he thought about everything, the more he ran over those inconsequential words.  _His best friend_ , he reiterated, swallowing hard against the knot in his throat. Bokuto had what he wanted for now, his best friend, relatively safe and sound. He had gotten to see Kuroo. That was all he needed, all he wanted.

Until he was ready to go home, nothing else Keiji could do mattered. And he couldn't stand there, not now, not with all the pressure building behind his eyes. A splitting headache, or the start of some other ailment, he wasn't sure. He needed to sit down until the sensation passed, at least.

Turning away, he walked silently out the route they'd come into the ward. Once he reached the couches outside, he eased down onto one and hunched forward, covering his face with both hands and steadying the pose.

Of course Kuroo had replaced him in Bokuto's life.

They had already been close, and over the last year, being away at university had only seemed to bond them further. Kuroo was the friend who hadn't let Bokuto down, who hadn't broken his heart. He'd always been more exciting, more fun for Bokuto to be around, too, it had seemed. The two of them gained a whole new energy when they were together beyond their usual personalities. It was plain for anyone to see; Keiji hadn't missed noticing it. If he had to give what he thought about those observations a name, he'd say he was jealous.

He couldn't be Bokuto's partner in crime the same way. What he'd had with Bokuto wasn't insignificant. Their dynamic was different, but Keiji couldn't help but feel sore when he compared the two. Why had he been the one Bokuto chose to fall for? Had he learned his lesson and developed those sorts of feelings for Kuroo, who was, after all, far more compatible for him?

Keiji pursed his lips, wincing as his head began to throb. The pain wasn't encompassing enough to drive his musings away, but it was making itself known in a way he couldn't ignore. Similarly, the feeling had snaked down into his chest. He could breathe, but it was painful and he couldn't maintain a normal rhythm. Somehow, amid everything else going on, his face felt wet.

What did it matter? If Bokuto had fallen in love with someone else, it was good. Great, even.

A scenario that had fallen within his simulations.

He'd anticipated it and acted accordingly. Why then did it feel like the mere possibility was enough to strangle all the air from his lungs?

Keiji had always known that he and Bokuto were going to unravel some way. There were several scenarios, ranging from likely to unlikely, that he had considered. He'd run through all of them at some point, playing them out in his head until he figured out just how something would break them apart. Their age difference. Difference in personalities. Growing up and tastes changing. First loves never, ever panning out in real life.

There was always something.

Yet, he was in tremendous pain.

Even with all the foresight he had, a part of Keiji wondered if it would have hurt less to have let those scenarios play out organically. To have accepted Bokuto and savored the period where they were happy, even at the cost of the sadness when things predictably fell apart.

Either way, the outcome was bleak. But perhaps if they'd at least tried, they could have stayed friends afterward, in that alternate timeline. If he'd given Bokuto a chance, he couldn't push him away like he had recently because he couldn't handle a total rejection on Keiji's part.

He wondered what Bokuto thought of him, what he believed was the reason he had rejected him. They'd never actually discussed it.

Perhaps that was for the best, Keiji thought. He doubted Bokuto would know what to do with his reasoning. That he loved him but knew it wouldn't work out if they dated. That it was better for them both if they never did, that it would save them a great deal of grief in the end.

Not that the choice had saved him any pain now.

Keiji's shoulders jolted, a sob firing out from his clenched lips. The motion reverberated, a sharp pang reminding him of how tensely he was holding his body, how any sudden movements would feel like a strain. Wetness slid down his face, pooling in the valleys between his fingers. Unable to hold back the tide any longer, he let himself gasp and cry without bracing for it, let the rough noises flow out to the quiet room and fill it.

He hated meaning nothing to Bokuto. Being barely worth noticing, being someone he couldn't stand to be around. Bokuto was the kind of person who liked almost anyone. Unless they gave him a reason not to, which Keiji supposed he had. Still, he had joined a very abbreviated list of people.

His mind continued to scream with pain as his thoughts ran a circular course, repeating all the things he now knew that hurt him. Every time he tried to catch his breath, another would surface as a reminder and he'd find himself struggling for air again as another sob wrenched out from him.

He was pitiful, he was hated, he was nothing.

Bokuto cared so much about his best friend, or whatever Kuroo was these days. He didn't care about Keiji at all, though. Not even enough to tell him to make himself scarce. To let him know definitively that he wasn't needed. Wasn't wanted. He didn't care even that much.

Bokuto's love had gradually receded into loathing. He'd moved on and severed their ties so easily.

But-

Keiji's fingers dug into his face, imprinting into the slick skin as he tried desperately to not hear the thought ringing in his head. Hissing slightly from how hard he was gripping, he lost focus instead.

He had been wrong. He had made the wrong choice. He regretted it, but it was made. He didn't want to admit it, but coming here tonight had forced him to realize that. The dread he'd been feeling all along after rejecting Bokuto, even for those many months they'd stayed friends, it was guilt. Something in him had known that his logic was flawed.

He still loved Bokuto. He was more than just a friend, and it had been that way always. It had been hard not to feel exhilarated by Bokuto's confession, hard not to accept what was really his heart's desire.

Rejecting him was his way of protecting them both from the wear of time on their relationship. He'd hoped they could keep what they had forever if they never tried to deepen that relationship further.

It hadn't worked.

Keiji didn't know what to do now. There wasn't anything he could think of that would salvage the mess that he'd made. He didn't even have an opening to talk to Bokuto and try to explain.

It wasn't worth sitting here embarrassing himself. He could easily be a mess at home. How he was going to get there like this, Keiji wasn't sure, but at least he wouldn't be interfering anymore. Bokuto could stare at Kuroo for as long as the nurse would permit him, and be relieved, and he would be gone. One problem, dealt with.

"Akaashi?"

Keiji stiffened. Vaguely, he wondered if he'd progressed to hallucinations. He didn't think the real Bokuto had ever spoken his name so clearly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, everyone, I am incredibly sorry about the gap between the last chapter and this one. 
> 
> All I can say is that I went through a long period where I couldn't write anything and was pretty depressed, and so nothing got done. I'm resolved to do my best to not let that happen again.
> 
> I would be remiss if I didn't give a shoutout to @silvercistern who had my back in various moments while I was writing, and of course, being the last minute editor today when I finished the chapter! Also to @newamsterdame who looked over everything early on, which is a part of why I was able to keep going. 
> 
> Miscellaneous thanks goes out to everyone who has encouraged me during this really, honestly fucking awful period in my creative life. I don't want to cry again so I'll keep it short but... it means a lot to have people reach out to you when you feel like as big of a failure as I felt at the time. Lots of love goes out from me to you.
> 
> Lastly thank you to everyone who has read this story, kudoed, or commented, I appreciate it more than I can express. I hope this chapter is not a disappointment.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I want to say thanks to everyone who has read this fic, enjoyed it, kudo-ed it, left a review... everything. It's incredibly gratifying to have that support and that's a large part of why I keep writing, apart from wanting to tell certain stories. Thanks for being patient with me, slow writer that I am.
> 
> This fic turns 1 year old on the 25th, and that's hard to believe. It's one of my earliest Haikyuu projects, something I've worked on pretty much from the time I got into the fandom. Since then I've had a lot of good memories, and I've written a lot of things, but this story is dear to my heart. It's a big project, and I've experimented a lot with my writing in its various chapters, and that's why it's special to me. I'm glad when people seem to like it like I do.
> 
> But enough of me being sentimental... enjoy the new chapter! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

The night had been a whirlwind.

Normally Keiji wasn’t fond of platitudes, but it summed up his experiences well. He’d been whisked from one experience to the next, and ended up somewhere completely different than he thought he’d be at the end of the night. It was the beginning of a weekend, and so he had figured he would have a relaxed evening heading into his one day off from classes and practice. Not going to check on Bokuto, visiting a hospital with Bokuto, and ultimately having an emotional breakdown in front of him.

If someone had told him that he’d cap off the evening by settling in on Bokuto’s couch, Keiji would have thought they were joking. Hallucinating, perhaps. But he was indeed sitting on Bokuto’s couch, as it had been offered to him as a place to sleep for the night.

So far, Keiji had managed to keep his feelings more in check. Bokuto was unaware of the reason for his outburst earlier, and for the moment that was all right. Surely, he must have some inkling about it, but he hadn’t pushed. When he’d walked up on Keiji crying, he’d been more alarmed than anything else.

Bokuto had a good heart. It was golden enough for him to insist that Keiji stay over rather than go home in his low mood, even though he already knew that Bokuto felt nothing toward him. That was the only reason Keiji could think of for why Bokuto would ignore his hatred. Charity toward another human being, whether they were a stranger, or the guy who had broken his heart. That level of goodwill was foreign to him; the more he contemplated things, the more his mind burned to confirm it again.

Bokuto hated him for breaking his heart. This was a temporary truce. Keiji needed to know where he stood. That was where he believed they stood.

Glancing wearily around the living room, he noted the familiar furnishings. Pictures of family and friends scattered all around in great number just like he remembered there being. Bokuto was a fan of having a way to make memories, and liked to take snapshots with anyone he spent a good deal of time with.

Keiji walked over to the table where the bulk of the pictures sat framed, eyes running over them in turn. There was one of Bokuto and his mother in the kitchen, baking together. Bokuto had an apron on and looked to be eagerly mixing some sort of batter by hand while his mother waved at the camera. There were some of Bokuto’s sisters, of Kuroo and Kozume, and others of the Fukurodani team all together. Apparently him being a part of the team hadn’t soured Bokuto’s memory of that time. That was good.

Reaching the end of the last row, there was a small framed photo that caught his eye. Keiji paused, eyebrows pinching together as he stared at the image.

Bokuto wouldn’t have forgotten he had this picture, wouldn’t have forgotten that it was amongst the others. He changed and added to the huddle of pictures regularly. It had only been a few weeks since they severed their friendship or whatever it might have been, but Keiji couldn’t believe that the picture was there. Why was it still there?

The picture was a simple one, and was slightly blurred, the hallmark of an inexperienced photographer. If he remembered correctly, it had been Kuroo who had snapped it with Bokuto’s phone. Keiji could not recall why Kuroo had been in possession of Bokuto’s cell, but he suspected it was so that Bokuto didn’t lose track of it that weekend.

They had been lounging on the couch, watching a movie, when Kuroo had bounded up with a look on his face that Keiji hated. He deeply distrusted any sort of grin on Kuroo Tetsurou’s face. And he was not wrong for thinking so.

Kuroo had clamored for Bokuto and him to pose together. He’d used the phrase ‘get nice and cozy for the camera.’ Keiji was neither nice, nor cozy, so he had settled for going along with the charade and had moved closer to Bokuto on the couch. So that they could both fit in the frame. It was Bokuto who had taken it a step beyond.

An arm wrapped around his waist, pinning his arm awkwardly, but in a carefree way. Bokuto had been warm and solid next to him. Keiji had been stiff and stern-faced from the situation. He remembered how hard it had been to deal with that abrupt closeness though when he’d wanted so much more. Feeling even a taste of Bokuto when they hugged, or posed for pictures like that one was an unbearable delight. Something that toyed with the feelings he didn’t want to give into. The feelings that he had killed before they had a chance to fully blossom.

Keiji swallowed hard. His phone suddenly felt heavier than a concrete block inside his pocket.

He had deleted all his photos of Bokuto from it.

It had been a ruthless decision he’d made the morning after he’d been kicked out of Bokuto’s apartment. With the morning, he hadn’t received any calls from Bokuto saying he’d made a mistake, that he still wanted to be friends with Keiji, that he needed him. No matter how long Keiji had stared at his phone, and waited, and hoped, no such call had happened. The absence of it had been painful. He’d wanted to cut out all reminders of Bokuto so that he didn’t fall back into his infatuation when things hurt less.

Ignorance didn’t seem blissful now, because just seeing the picture in front of him was enough to make him remember just how it had felt when his feelings were wild and free. How much he had yearned to stay in Bokuto’s arms forever. To be in so many more pictures with him. To love him openly and with no sense of doom lingering in the mists.

But he wasn’t built not to analyze the possibilities his choices could lead to.

Keiji always studied a situation down to the end point. He expended a lot of mental energy mapping the different outcomes and how probable they were to occur. There were too many ways in which a relationship with Bokuto and him could crumble. He’d decided, in the end, to let go of those dreams and hold onto just their friendship. A fine choice that had been.

In the present, he bit back the tears that threatened to come loose. Ever since he’d cried the first time earlier that night, it had felt like there were tears welling up almost constantly, ready to fall at the slightest provocation. He couldn’t control it, but he had to try.

Truthfully, Keiji was as uncertain as to why he’d accepted the invitation to stay the night as he was about why Bokuto would offer that. He felt out of his element being here; it was stressful more than it was helpful.

Yet he couldn’t fathom ducking out now and going home. There wouldn’t be anyone there given that his parents were on a work trip, and he would admit, it was nice to not be alone, even if the company he had was strange company. No, not strange. Bokuto was in many ways more familiar to him than the inner workings of his own mind. Bokuto was simpler to understand.

It was only strange because they had been apart, because they had stopped being friends. Also because Bokuto had yet to tell him what Keiji already knew - that he loathed him. A part of him needed to hear it, just for the closure. It wouldn’t feel good, but it would stop making things feel so unsettled. Perhaps afterwards, it would be easier to really and truly let his residual feelings for Bokuto go. That was what he wanted. Or rather, it was what he needed to want to happen.

Keiji turned away from the table with the photographs and walked back to the couch. Before he could sit back down, Bokuto bustled in from deeper into the apartment carrying a stack of clothing. There was a toothbrush in a plastic wrapper set on top of the pile.

“I got you some of my older stuff, Akaashi, it shouldn’t be too big I think. And this,” Bokuto picked the toothbrush up and waved it at him, “Mom said I should have some around in case a guest needed one. Here you go.”

Keiji blinked back at him. All his mind could register was the first part of what he’d said, and it was breaking him. He swallowed back another surge of feelings. There was no way that he could wear Bokuto’s old clothes. It was too much, too intimate. It would feel that way. He couldn’t risk it.

More than that, he’d reached the limit of his ability to hold himself together. He had to know what Bokuto thought of him.

Taking the stack from Bokuto, Keiji set it down on an end table and then looked back at him.

“Bokuto-san, what is going on? Why did you ask me to stay here?” Bokuto’s expression went from normal to befuddled. Keiji regrouped, and finished, “I thought you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“I… You came back, though,” Bokuto replied, still seeming confused.

He wasn’t wrong. Keiji had come back into his life after he’d asked him to leave it. It was his fault any of this awkwardness was happening. He had been selfish, wanting to see Bokuto again, to make sure he was thriving. To see if he was needed, to have an excuse to be around him. Very little of his motivation had been pure, Keiji couldn’t deny that.

“I was checking to see how you were. I ran into Kozume-san on my way home tonight. He said that you were not doing well and asked if I would visit you. I thought it was prudent. I never intended to bother you, but it seems I have,” he rambled on. Unable to shake his mounting anxiety, Keiji’s hands tugged at each other. The popping of the joints in his fingers only barely took the edge off.

“You’re not bothering me, Akaashi.” Bokuto took a step closer to him. Keiji stared at him warily.

“I find that rather hard to believe,” he settled for saying.

“Look… I was surprised you showed up, yeah. But I’m glad you came with me. I still don’t know what to think about all of it, but I know how I’m feeling and I’m not bothered.”

Abruptly, Keiji’s mood soured even further.

“You don’t know what to think,” he repeated in a flat tone.

“Not yet. I’m still thinking.”

“You are the one who sent me away the first time, Bokuto-san. And now you’re offering me to stay the night, and saying you don’t know what to think about seeing me again. But I imagine it’s something positive, right? Or perhaps you’re just pitying me,” Keiji seethed. He could feel something coiling in his heart, some dark emotion. It had thorns, and it made him want to say things he’d be better off not saying.

“Hey-” Bokuto interrupted. Keiji ignored the interjection, instead raising his volume to overpower whatever was being said to him.

“You wanted me to go. Now you want me to stay. Or at least you think you might. Do you not see the issue in that?”

"Then why'd you come back?" Bokuto snapped. "I didn't make you do that, Akaashi, you did that."

Keiji just shook his head. It was starting to throb as his frustration intensified, but there wasn't any way to alleviate it.

"You weren't taking care of yourself. Because of this thing with Kuroo-san. Someone had to look after you."

"I don't need looking after!" Bokuto roared. His face was petulant, and he seemed torn between anger and exasperation.

"I'm not yours to look after, either. You always act like you know better than me about everything, 'Kaashi, but you don't. I can do okay on my own. I've been trying my best, but a lot of awful stuff has happened all close together, and, and-" his hands curled into fists at his sides.

"I'm fairly sure people who are taking proper care of themselves don't look like you do right now, Bokuto-san."

"Stop that, Akaashi." Bokuto bit into his lip before continuing off his remarks with, "I don't get what you're thinking. You say I'm changing my mind a bunch, but it's you. I don't like you a lot right now, but I still care about you. You're the only one who's being unclear here. And I'd appreciate if you stopped taking shit out on me."

Keiji recoiled, taking a step back and crossing his arms over his chest.

"I am not taking anything out on you."

"You are. You walk in here all high and mighty saying it's to take care of me, but like, it doesn't add up. Maybe you did want to check on me, but that's not why you were crying tonight. I've never, ever seen you cry about anything."

"I dislike crying," Keiji responded, "that does not mean I never do."

"There's something else going on, isn't there? Something you're upset over," Bokuto tried. His voice was lower, less fierce and more coaxing.

Keiji hated the fact that it was abating his own anger. He pressed his fingers into his other arm hard. His head hurt tremendously now, and it was progressing to a full blown migraine. It made him feel weak and like it would be better to just come clean.

“I want to know why you offered for me to stay here,” he said instead.

Bokuto stared at him incredulously for a long moment. Even after he looked away, Keiji could almost hear the gears turning in Bokuto’s mind, trying to work out how to respond. Whether to steer them back to the same topic, or allow Keiji to change it. Perhaps he was thinking about retracting his offer. It would make sense; no one wanted a house guest that had both caused them grief and was actively being a nuisance.

“No one who’s upset like that should have to be alone. It was weird seeing you that way, and I wanted to help-”

Of course, Keiji thought. It was precisely the motivation he’d surmised earlier. He’d done it out of the goodness of his heart. It didn’t change anything about them, and it meant nothing past tonight.

“I mean, I still love you, you know?”

Keiji’s arms tensed where they were folded across his chest. His eyes snapped quickly back to Bokuto.

“What,” he said dully, his face losing its color, “I was under the impression that you… hated me.”

“I don’t like how you’re talking right now, but it’s… not the kind of thing that goes away easy. The love part, I mean.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Keiji muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing, Bokuto-san. I-” he sighed harshly, and then carefully let go of his arms. “I figured I wouldn’t be your favorite person after I turned you down. But then when you told me you didn’t want to even be friends with me, I was sure that was it. That you no longer felt anything toward me. It would be natural for that to turn to hate, over time. I have made you feel terrible things, I know. Even if you put on a brave face.”

“But you’ve made me feel lots of great things too. I didn’t forget that. It was just too hard being around you when I knew you’d never feel what I did. I don’t hate you,” Bokuto trailed off, wearing one of the most miserable faces Keiji had witnessed on him. He huffed out a frustrated breath. “And anyway, you didn’t do anything wrong for me to hate you.”

That wasn’t strictly true, Keiji thought.

He’d done what he thought was best for the both of them, but in the end, he had lied about what he felt toward Bokuto. It was a well-intentioned lie, but if tonight had clarified anything for him, it was that him making that decision was weighing heavy on his conscience. Time and guilt had worn down his excuses, and he knew now that it was the wrong choice. He didn’t like being wrong, and certainly didn’t like admitting it when he was, but it had to be done.

Steeling himself, he looked at Bokuto, took him in. He was kindhearted, and strong, and talented. Emotional, capricious, and stubborn. Apparently resilient as well, given that he still managed to hold onto any positive opinion of Keiji even after all the mistakes that he had made that had hurt him. There was still a place there in Bokuto’s life for him, even if that was memories and a photo of them together that he hadn’t thrown out. Somehow, he didn’t blame him, didn’t hate him.

It was hard to believe, but Keiji did believe it. It underlined the fact that he didn’t deserve Bokuto, or his forgiveness. If he knew the truth, surely he would have countless reasons to hate him after all.

Keiji grimaced. He knew what he had to do, and that was square up to the truth. He had to be fair. He had to give Bokuto what he needed to let go of his feelings so that he could be free.

“Could we sit down? I need-” he swallowed uncomfortably, “I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah, we could sit down,” Bokuto agreed. He looked only the smallest bit wary of what Keiji had to say. He had no idea.

They took a seat on their respective ends of the couch, turning toward each other. Given that the last time they’d shared it had been the last time they’d talked, it was awkward. But somehow appropriate to the conversation they needed to have, Keiji thought.

There had been a moment that night when he, when he'd seen how upset Bokuto was, had wanted to tell him the truth. Sitting there, letting Bokuto think that there was nothing in his heart other than friendship, and Bokuto struggling with whether the unrequitedness was too much for him to handle, had been torture. He had felt like he was torturing Bokuto. The words had been close to his lips that night, but he’d lost his courage. He had stayed his course of being dishonest to the bitter end.

“I have done something wrong,” Keiji began. “And I want to correct that, and apologize to you.”

Bokuto cocked his head to the side.

“What’ve you done wrong?”

“I was not always honest with you,” he answered carefully. “Specifically, I was not honest when I rejected you that time.”

“Because you didn’t say why? I don’t care about that. I mean, I did, but-”

“No. That’s not what I’m talking about, Bokuto-san. Please listen. Let me finish before you say anything else.”

Keiji sat back, hands gripping his knees for some iota of stability. He took a deep breath, and blew it out. This was not going well. It was harder than he’d anticipated. All he could think of was what would happen after he said it, and he imagined nothing that did happen would be positive.

He faced Bokuto again, ignoring the slight tremble of his fingers.

“I have been, I was, I am - I love you.”

The words slipped out of his mouth so fast that Keiji couldn’t help but balk, eyes widening with surprise. After the monumental amount of build up, it was remarkably easy to say. Why was it so easy to say? It had never been simple to admit in his own mind.

Meanwhile, thunderstruck was an apt descriptor for how Bokuto looked right then.

“You… what?” he croaked not much later. “You love me?! What is that, Akaashi? I… now? You love me now?”

“Not just now,” Keiji answered, feeling drops of wetness begin to slide slowly down his face.

“Then why? Why not tell me?!” Bokuto demanded as he leaned forward, hands scrunching into fists on top of his own knees.

“Because,” Keiji said, voice struggling to form each word, “I determined that it was best that we didn’t date.”

“You determined?” Bokuto was quieter now, but the agitation in his voice was still every bit as palpable as when he’d shouted. “You didn’t think I had any say in that? That you could just make my decisions for me, Akaashi? I guess that makes sense. I’m just a guy who needs looking after, right?”

He was at a loss.

There wasn’t anything Keiji could think of to say to that. There wasn’t anything that could quell the hurt reflected in Bokuto’s words. Tears had started to roll down his cheeks as well. They made their descent as Bokuto stormed silently next to him. Keiji shifted, staring into his lap. He could feel himself shaking, and he was overcome with guilt, but still no words appeared that could begin to address the situation. There probably were none, or perhaps he was just useless.

The couch groaned in protest as Bokuto got to his feet. Keiji jerked his head in that direction.

“Bokuto-san,” he appealed. He wasn’t sure why; it wasn’t like he knew how to apologize. It was simply that it felt like if Bokuto left now, they would never resolve things, and he was terrified of that prospect.

Bokuto gave him one last look.

Keiji grappled with his mind, trying unsuccessfully to pull words from thin air. Bokuto shook his head in frustration.

“I have to visit Kuroo in the morning,” he muttered before stalking off to his bedroom and slamming the door.

Putting his face in his hands, Keiji let himself cry. Crying was the last thing that he really wanted to do, but he no longer had any control over it. His body felt like it had been ripped apart from the inside out. He had told the truth at last, but it had only served to worsen the pain for both of them. He’d thought it would provide closure, but the wound was still gaping. He was a failure, he was cruel, and he’d managed to break down someone he cared about deeply.

Lowering himself down, Keiji laid on the couch and curled into himself. He didn’t think he could move even to go home, and until Bokuto kicked him out, he’d stay.

So, until the morning, then.

That was how long he had until the final bridge he had to Bokuto crumbled and ceased to exist. After that, he’d have to give up and move on. It felt callous to think about, but realism was slightly more comforting than anything else stewing around inside his brain at the moment. Unfortunately, it only lasted so long.

The more he thought about it, Bokuto had been right about his mind not being made up, about it changing tack constantly. It did. He was noticing that now. It swung back and forth between wanting there to be a clean break between them and wanting to keep Bokuto in his life. His heart and head disagreed, and Keiji could see now that it had added to the chaos. Currently, the part that wanted Bokuto was winning out.

Sighing, he could feel his thoughts beginning to grow fuzzy around the edges, more disjointed. It made sense; he was exhausted-

When he woke next, he knew he couldn’t have slept long. For one thing, it was dark in the living room. Secondly, his entire head ached as it did after any restless sleep.

Keiji blinked until his eyes adjusted to the dim glow of the moonlight coming through the window. Everything was draped in heavy shadow, so it took a while for him to pick out the shapes of the furniture around him. And one shape that didn’t belong. That hadn’t been there before.

Quickly propping himself up, Keiji stared, and his body tensed.

Sitting in front of the couch, on the floor just a few feet away, was Bokuto. His knees were drawn up to his chest, and he was leaning over them, head quirked to the side to rest on his shoulder. When the couch announced Keiji’s movement, Bokuto straightened up and met his gaze.

He wasn’t sure what expected to happen.

Bokuto didn’t bother with any small talk.

“Why’d you tell me that?”

It took a few moments for Keiji to organize himself enough to respond, to rid himself of the last dregs of drowsiness. To think about how to answer properly. His mind was running at a sluggish pace, and it wasn’t the easiest question to answer even if he had been more awake. Truthfully, he was bewildered to see Bokuto sitting there and talking to him again.

Stranger than that fact was that Bokuto didn’t sound angry. He was relatively calm, and his question came off as only mildly demanding. It felt more like he was talking to Keiji like he would anybody else.

Keiji pursed his lips and got himself sitting up on the couch again. While he continued to think, he diverted his gaze.

There were two answers, but they fed into each other. The concepts didn’t fit with the part of him that wanted to hold onto their friendship, but they were still his prevailing reasons. So it seemed natural to give them as his response.

“I wanted to be honest with you,” he said, daring to turn back toward Bokuto, “and I thought knowing might help you move on. From me. Instead of wondering what my feelings or motivations were back then.”

"Well... it just makes stuff... more confusing? Like, I don't know whether to be happy or angry, and I think it's both. But it can't be both, because that doesn't make sense."

"It could be both," Keiji replied. 

Bokuto seemed to consider that notion for a while, hugging his knees and staring off into empty space. It felt wrong to speak, so Keiji waited.

"Why'd you lie to me, back then? I don't get what you'd get out of doing it."

“At the time, it seemed like the best course of action. I had already thought about how things with us would go before you ever confessed. I felt that I’d rather be your friend forever than date you and lose you later. The chances of us breaking up seemed far greater than the chances of a relationship being successful.”

“But you don’t know that,” Bokuto protested, “No one knows if going out with someone is gonna work out.”

“Perhaps, but-”

Bokuto cut him off, putting a hand up to stop Keiji’s response as he started to speak again.

“No reason of yours beats the truth, Akaashi. The future is wide open.”

Stubborn, he was being stubborn, Keiji thought wearily. Even so, Bokuto’s words did have a certain wisdom to them. The Bokuto brand of wisdom where the words were delivered casually despite the substance they contained. In any case, it seemed that Bokuto wasn’t interested in his predictions. And at this point, Keiji was starting to feel that he was as well. His skills at calculating the odds had already failed him miserably. They weren’t as reliable as he had thought them to be before.

“I suppose it is,” he chipped in quietly.

Bokuto fidgeted where he was sitting on the floor.

“But, I gotta say, what I hate the most is you taking that choice away from me. Like you don’t think I could make it in the first place. That’s real unfair.”

Keiji frowned. It was true. Whatever justifications his mind had produced at the time, what he had done was write off Bokuto.

“I want to know why you thought that was okay.”

As he trailed off, Bokuto stared up at Keiji intently. His eyes were dark and piercing through the shadowy room. He appeared as though he was ready to dissect anything Keiji said, or any expression he happened to make while answering. It felt like a test that Bokuto was about to grade him on. Keiji supposed that was an accurate metaphor. If he wanted to mend anything between them, Bokuto had to trust him again.

Still, he kept his face as blank as possible as he combed through his memories.

It had been about three months prior to Bokuto’s graduation that he had started preparing for how he’d handle a confession. Keiji remembered the timing because that was about when Bokuto had started counting down the days until he was free from the clutches of secondary education. He’d often talk about it loud and pridefully at school or at practice, proclaiming that it wouldn’t be long before he was off on his own and one step closer to being an adult. During the lunches they shared together, he’d often teased Keiji about missing him.

When he’d gone home that day, Keiji had been hit with the realization that he would indeed miss him. And that he was running perilously short on time to make a decision one way or another about Bokuto. About what they would move forward as, whether it would be as friends or something more. So he had started analyzing.

Never once that night could he recall thinking about what Bokuto might have to say on the matter. The thought had simply not occurred to him, callous as it sounded.

As he started to recall everything, Keiji’s mood soured. He could answer that question now, he could tell Bokuto why he’d decided to go ahead with lying to him and rejecting his confession.

But it would make him sound like a horrible person. Then again, what he had done already cast him in an exceptionally bad light.

Keiji hunched forward, biting the inside of his lip. Tears wobbled their way down his face again, negating his attempt at being unreadable. He couldn’t help the reaction. It was shattering to look back and see himself for who he really was. Back then, he’d thought he was making the prudent choice, one that would ultimately benefit them both the most. He had tried to control the situation.

His decisions had only left destruction in their wake, and now he could see where things had gone wrong. Lying was wrong, as was not involving Bokuto and sharing the concerns with him. If they’d been able to talk it out together, whatever happened afterwards could have played out with no regrets for either of them.

Lifting his head slightly, Keiji tried to steel himself for what he had to admit. It shouldn’t be so difficult, but it was. Putting a name to his motive made it sound ten times worse.

“I did what I did because I believed I knew better than you.”

Bokuto stared at him for a moment more, and then the intensity of his gaze faded. Replacing it was a more weary look, accompanied with a sigh.

“That’s honest, at least,” he said, reverting back to hugging his knees.

“Yes,” Keiji confirmed. He could feel more wetness sliding down his face and wondered how he hadn’t run dry after how much he had been crying in the span of one night.

“…You know, even if we dated and then broke up, it doesn’t mean we’d have to be enemies. We could've been friends after that, too.”

“I suppose.”

“Unless you like, cheated on me. Because I don’t think I could forgive you then.”

“I would have never cheated on you, Bokuto-san.”

“Just lie sometimes and make decisions for me.”

Keiji looked away.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.” Bokuto huffed, seemingly at himself. “I shouldn’t say stuff like that! I’m just frustrated. What you didn’t wasn’t great, but it doesn’t feel great trying to, uh, be… be stern about it to you either.”

“You have every right to be frustrated with me.”

“Yeah. And I am, but I… I don’t like how this feels. You’re really sorry, aren’t you, Akaashi?”

“I am.”

“Okay.” Bokuto didn’t elaborate, instead maneuvering back onto his feet. He walked over to the couch and sat down beside Keiji, who shot him a curious look.

When Bokuto failed to say anything more, he jumped in to bridge the silence.

“Okay, what, Bokuto-san?”

“I’m thinking!” he replied. “I mean, when I went back to my room, I thought I was gonna sleep, but I was too angry. So I couldn’t sleep, and I just kept thinking about all the stuff you said. Even though it pissed me off that you lied, I kept coming back to when you said you liked me too.”

Keiji dropped his gaze.

“I always thought you did, and you do. There isn’t any reason we couldn’t try to make that work. Maybe I’m being too easy, but if you promise not to do the kind of stuff you did, I think I could forgive you.”

Something tightened in Keiji’s chest, and he went stock-still from the implications he heard in those words.

“I want you to take me seriously. And no more lies. Can you promise me that?”

He turned back to Bokuto. Surprised as Keiji was, what he was being asked for was simple. His mind had already been made up in that regard; he’d resolved to be truthful to Bokuto. More because he thought it would help Bokuto move on, but that wasn’t what he was offering him now. What he was offering, Keiji wasn’t sure he deserved.

“I won’t lie to you,” he started cautiously, “But Bokuto-san, are you certain you want to forgive me? What I did was… It was… cruel.”

“Cruel?” Bokuto interjected. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “It was a little bit, but I know you were just scared. You hate when you don’t know how things are gonna work out, Akaashi. And doesn’t it mean you like me a lot if you were that scared of losing me?”

“I do like you a lot,” Keiji admitted.

“See? I was right!”

Bokuto smiled, and the sight alone was enough to unwind some of the tension in his body. Keiji hadn’t thought he would ever get to see it again, much less a smile directed at him. Relaxing, Keiji let himself sink into the couch cushion behind his back.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, eyes flickering toward Bokuto. “For your forgiveness. I regret the pain I’ve caused.”

Bokuto twisted in his perch on the couch to face him more head on.

“So. If you really like me after all…”

Keiji watched as a blush spread over Bokuto’s face. In response to it, he felt the blossoming of a different kind of uneasiness than he'd been dealing with before, a happier kind that made him feel like he was fluttering inside rather than crushed under the weight of his guilt. He couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t turning just as red as his mind began to follow Bokuto’s likely train of thought.

“I’m not saying it’s gotta be right away. I don’t know if I’m ready for it yet, but, one day, could I confess to you again?”

“I’m not sure I could stop you,” he quipped. “You are a stubborn one, Bokuto-san.”

“Stubborn enough to keep up with you.”

Keiji couldn’t argue with that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Somehow, he’d made it. He’d been told he wasn’t allowed to see Kuroo until the morning, so he had waited. Incredibly, Kenma had even caught some sleep last night, which he chalked up to the sheer relief he felt at Kuroo being found. Everything wasn’t settled yet, but it was a start.

And so the morning had come, and with it, another delay.

A minor one, Kenma figured, since it had been explained to him that visiting hours would begin when the nurses had finished their rounds. They were running slightly behind. It would only be a few minutes before he could go in to visit.

At least, he had to believe that to keep himself calm. Despite his efforts though, he was impatient. He was worried. What if Kuroo’s health had declined during the night? Was that what the nurses were really attending to, or were they performing normal, everyday care? It was hard to know, but easy for his mind to fill in the gaps with terrible suggestions.

Fidgeting in his seat, Kenma stared at the clock on his phone. Twenty minutes since visiting hours were supposed to start. Objectively, twenty minutes was far from a long time to wait, but it felt like an eternity. He’d already waited; why did he have to wait more?

He was certain that the other people in the waiting room felt the same about the hold-up. There were a couple of kids across the room from him; earlier they’d bounced over to try and look at the game he’d been playing. Kenma had ended up putting it away rather than staying the center of attention. Now the kids were crowded around their father, bombarding him with questions about how long it was going to be. They looked as unhappy as Kenma felt when their father told them he didn’t know.

“I thought you might be stuck out here.”

Turning, Kenma saw a woman approaching him. She was tall, dark-haired, and wearing a sleek gray coat that somehow made it down to her knees despite her lanky frame. Upon spotting her, he felt himself relax ever so slightly.

“Hello, Auntie.”

“I don’t know about everyone else here, but they let me in to see Tetsurou. I came in early to talk to his doctor, so I guess they couldn’t kick me out once I was in the ward. They could’ve tried, I suppose, but well, they don’t know me. I can be stubborn.”

Kenma thought that was a massive understatement, but he didn’t dare comment on it.

“Come on. I’m sure you’re dying to visit.” She beckoned him with a wave of her hand. He gathered his things and stood, following behind Kuroo’s mother as she led him into the unit.

“He’s not awake yet because they’ve got him pretty drugged up, but it’ll happen in time. Anyway, he’s kind of cute when he’s asleep. Makes me remember when he was a baby. I never could hate him for waking me up in the middle of the night because he’d get so cuddly when he finally nodded off again.”

Kenma paused in the hallway, causing her to look back at him.

“Forget something?”

“No,” he answered softly. “You said he wasn’t awake yet. He can wake up though, right?”

Kuroo’s mother had been sporting a fond smile while she reminisced. That smile became more wry as she listened to his question.

“He’s not in a coma. I’m told that when they first got him, they kept him pretty sedated to let him heal better. But that part’s over with. So yes, he will wake up.” She gave a toneless laugh. “Did you bring your chargers?”

“Yeah.”

“Good! Then we’ll wait together.”

With that, she started walking on, and Kenma again followed, letting the new information settle into his brain.

Coming here this morning, Kuroo being unable to wake up had been one of his greatest concerns. But it wasn’t going to happen. At some point, they’d be able to talk. It was a weight off his shoulders that he desperately needed. Kuroo was alive, he would be conscious, and the rest Kenma figured would come with time.

They arrived to the room a short while later. Kuroo’s mother went for the seat nearest to the head of the bed. Kenma paused in the doorway to give himself a minute to process.

Kuroo looked the same as he remembered from last night. Covered in blankets and wires to the point where only his head and one arm peeked out from beneath the mountain of hospital clutter. The wires were a disconcerting sight, but now that he was close enough to watch Kuroo’s breathing, it wasn’t as worrisome.

He'd feel better when they could talk, though.

Kenma shuffled further into the room, taking the other vacant seat by the bed. He set his backpack on his lap and pulled out his DS. Beside him, Kuroo's mother was eying the monitor that showed his vital signs. After a thorough glance over, she turned back to Kenma.

"I thought it as soon as I saw you in the lounge, Kenma, but you looked just like you did when you were waiting for Tetsurou to come back from that one ski trip. You kids must have been seven and eight, I think?"

He switched on his game but nodded faintly in acknowledgement of what she was saying.

"Anyway, you were fidgeting you were so impatient for him to get home. Your mother said you'd been waiting on our doorstep for over an hour. It never would have been obvious that you were frustrated if someone looked at your face, but it was like you couldn't sit entirely still. That's what it looked like now, too."

Kenma kept his eyes trained on the home screen, but he grimaced.

He _was_ impatient, and he was frustrated with all the waiting. It kind of embarrassed him to know that his mother had told Kuroo's mom about that time, but it couldn't be helped. They talked to each other too much. Kuroo and him were probably more in each other's business overall, but their mothers talked regularly.

He remembered when Kuroo had come back from the ski trip too.

It hadn't snowed in Nerima that year, but it was cold enough to warrant thick winter gear, which was what Kenma had been wearing when Kuroo and his parents arrived. His mother had bundled him up in multiple layers, and he'd wound up looking like some sort of marshmallow wearing a scarf and hat when everything was on. Kuroo had laughed at him heartily, and the only reason Kenma hadn't punched him was that when he looked up at him, he could tell something was off. Kuroo's eyes had been red rimmed. It was obvious that he'd been crying.

That was the trip where Kuroo's parents had told him they were getting a divorce. He'd taken it hard at the time; over the years he'd grown not to care too much about the split. Kuroo saw his father a couple of times a year, otherwise he lived with his mother. It suited him fine, considering he'd gravitated toward her anyway.

The weird thing was, it wasn't just because he'd missed having Kuroo, who was his only friend back then, around that Kenma had waited so impatiently that day. Somehow, something in him had made him do it. He'd just felt like he needed to be there, though he didn't have a clue why. When Kuroo got home, a good reason had materialized, but it wasn't like Kenma had known about his parents beforehand.

Still, the idea of Kuroo's parents divorcing had worried him as a kid, too. He watched enough television to know that a lot of the time, parents shared custody afterward, shuttling their kids back and forth between two homes. Kuroo's father had planned on moving south of Tokyo; Kenma had been convinced that he'd only get to see Kuroo half of the time. Even at that tender age, it was a prospect he'd greatly disliked.

If he thought about it now, maybe Kuroo had always been special to him. Not in a love sort of way, at least not until more recently, but he was set apart from any other friends that Kenma had.

"But I know how you feel, I guess. It wasn't that long that he was gone, but he's the only kid I've got. When I finally heard from the hospital, it felt like I'd been waiting for that news for ages."

She reached over and ruffled the hair on the top of his head.

"Thanks for helping get him back."

Kenma wrinkled his nose at the touch. He was pretty sure he'd been in middle school the last time he'd had his hair messed with like that. With almost anyone else, it would have unnerved him. With her, it was to be expected on sentimental occasions.

He started in on his game, bumping the volume down to a softer setting. Luckily, he was at a point in the story where he needed to level grind a lot to prepare for the next big fight, so it would be a mindless way to kill some time. As he moved his character around in circles in the tall grass, Kenma started to fall into a trance-like state of focus. Everything surrounding him blurred around the edges, and if anything was happening elsewhere in the room, he wouldn't have known it.

It wasn't clear how long it had been, but he was eventually brought back to reality by a hand waving in front of his face.

Kenma looked up.

"I'm going to get some coffee, if the cafe here has any worth drinking, and a snack. Want anything?"

"I'm fine," he replied.

"Food and hot chocolate it is," Kuroo's mother said with finality. "I'll be back in a little while."

Kenma turned back to what he was doing. He should've known better than to think she wouldn't feed him whether he said he was hungry or not. She was as bad as Kuroo when it came to forcing regular sustenance on him. It wasn't like he minded that much, though.

When the door shut behind her, Kenma glanced over at the bed. Nothing had changed; Kuroo was still fast asleep.

How much longer would it be before he woke up?

He couldn't help but wonder that, impatient as it came off sounding. As Kenma pondered the question more, he realized he hadn't asked Kuroo's mother about what was wrong with him. She'd talked to the doctor earlier that morning, so he assumed she knew the extent of any injuries Kuroo had. Somehow asking had slipped his mind.

Today, he felt out of sorts. He wasn't used to feeling so easily frustrated or forgetting small details. Normally, details were what he was good at. Taking in all the nuances of a situation and using them to decide how to respond. Using them to anticipate how someone might respond to something he said, if that would turn the conversation a certain way, or what it might make them think about him. It helped him avoid a lot of the everyday awkwardness he wasn't equipped to handle. But that part of him was failing now and thoughts were spilling out freely as though his mind were one giant sieve.

He needed to focus on something else.

Pushing away his previous train of thought, Kenma went back to his game, deciding on going for the next mission he'd been getting leveled up for. It was infiltrating the enemy's base, and based on what he knew from the games before this one, there would be countless grunt characters to go through before he got a chance to heal up his party. He didn't feel like struggling with those battles, thus the level grinding. Being able to steamroll through those minor but numerous battles would save him time in the end.

Yet, as he engaged in the first of the many fights, Kenma couldn't shake the thoughts that kept threading into his mind. It made it impossible to concentrate. His fingers moved on their own, opting for the move he'd used last; it hadn't been very effective, and he'd wanted to try something else, but he slipped up instead.

Kenma slugged his way through the rest of the fight. Somehow, he managed to turn it around by the end. It didn't feel satisfying though.

Frowning, he saved and shut the game off. Again, he glanced over to the bed.

Then, grudgingly, he stood, setting his handheld on his chair, and he walked closer to where Kuroo was sleeping.

It was almost unsettling how normal he looked in that state. If Kenma blocked out the hospital setting, all the machines and wires, and imagined one of their bedrooms instead, it would be normal. He'd watched Kuroo nap so many times over the years that the sight was familiar, comforting. Comforting, Kenma thought vaguely as he gave Kuroo a thorough glance over. He'd never thought about it, but even when he was unconscious, Kuroo was easy and calm to be around. Even if he slept in the weirdest positions. It was rare to see him sleeping on his back like he was now.

Kenma trailed his hand over to rest on top of the blankets. For a second he considered pulling them back to scan Kuroo for any obvious injuries that the blankets concealed. But a moment later he discarded the idea.

That was being too impatient.

As the idea receded, he took to scanning Kuroo's face closer instead. There was a cut on his forehead, half hidden by the bangs that always seemed to hang down over one of his eyes. Seeing it made Kenma's stomach turn. It was only a cut, but seeing it on a face he was so used to looking at was disconcerting, far more than anything else about him being in a hospital at all.

He examined the rest of what he could see, and his eyes drifted to a bruise on Kuroo's arm. Without thinking, Kenma's hand moved to touch at it, tracing a finger along the borders of the discolored skin. Then he stopped, letting his hand rest where it stood. He frowned.

His heart was beating fast inside his chest. He felt anxious in addition to being impatient. Somewhere in his mind, he worried that there was still a chance that he could lose Kuroo. Until he woke up, that fear wasn't going to go away. He couldn't lose him.

It didn't matter that he'd never been entirely sure before then. In that moment, Kenma knew that Kuroo wasn't just his best friend. Even if that were the case, losing him wasn't something he could stomach.

Kenma slid his hand down to where Kuroo's sat on top of the blankets. He wrapped his fingers around Kuroo's, giving them a faint squeeze. _Wake up_ , he thought, as a lump formed in his throat. His free hand clenched into a fist at his side. _Wake up_ , Kenma repeated inwardly. He could feel himself beginning to succumb to panic, and he didn't want to. He just needed Kuroo to wake up and then he'd-

The hand in his grasp twitched.

He almost let go, but he held on, instead snapping his gaze back to Kuroo's face.

Watching didn't soothe Kenma's racing pulse any, but it was a better type of anticipation as he watched a grimace spread across Kuroo's lips, his eyes scrunching before they started to flutter open. He looked wholly uncomfortable, worn out.

But he was awake.

And that was all that really mattered.

"Kenma?" he started groggily, peering up at him curiously like he wasn't sure if it was dream or reality he was in.

In response, Kenma struggled to form words, so rather than try to answer when he didn't know what to say, he gave Kuroo's hand another squeeze. That should be enough to tell him he was conscious and not imagining everything.

Kuroo was the one who looked surprised then.

"Kenma, you're..."

"Holding your hand, yeah," he answered, averting his gaze. Embarrassing as it was to be caught, being discovered didn't make him want to let go.

"I'm not complaining, but..."

Kuroo pulled free from the grip Kenma had on him. When he stared back at him to question the movement, Kuroo tentatively laced their fingers together. Kenma felt heat start to wash over him. It felt new and strange, but he still didn't want to put an end to anything that was going on.

"'M still in the hospital right?" Kuroo's voice was warped, raspy and dried out sounding, and hearing it tugged at his heart.

"Yeah."

"Before that?"

"I don't know. No one knew where you were. I guess the hospital wasn't able to identify you either. We did a missing persons report, and that was how they found you in here. I... identified you last night."

"We?"

"It was Bokuto's idea."

"But you went with him," Kuroo insisted. Though he didn't elaborate, it was clear that he understood how hard that had been for him to do. Kuroo knew his limits almost as well as he did.

"I was worried," Kenma admitted softly. Trying to ignore how relieving it was to have their hands intertwined while they talked, he added, "How do you feel?"

"Not great. Sore, though it would probably be worse without the drugs."

"Do you remember what happened?"

Kuroo tilted his head to the side thoughtfully.

"Sort of. I know I got hit, but I don't know much else other than that. I just remember waking up in here at some point, but I wasn't up for more than a couple minutes. And now, you're here."

Frowning, Kenma's eyes left his face in favor of looking around at everything else. The stand with the IV fluids, the monitors surrounding the bed, and finally back to where their hands lay together on the blankets. He quickly abandoned that view.

"You were gone a long time."

"Sorry."

"I thought, maybe, you wouldn't come back," Kenma said. Even now, his chest felt crushed by the devastation of that thought, and it wasn't going to happen.

Kuroo's face shifted from appearing calm to what looked a lot like guilt.

"I'm really sorry you had to think about that," he apologized. Then a weak smile lifted the corners of his lips. "But hey, you can't get rid of me that easy."

"Guess not."

Kenma tightened his grip on Kuroo's hand as a way of reassuring himself. He pushed the darker thoughts away in his mind. There was no reason to keep replaying them, not when Kuroo was in front of him, relatively safe, if not unharmed. He wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

"I'd hug you, but sitting up sounds like a bad idea right now," Kuroo commented, glancing longingly at the medicine bags hanging on the pole next to his bed. "I really am sore. Did anyone say what all was wrong with me? Seeing as how I was asleep for most of this adventure...."

Kenma bit down the warm, achy feeling that bubbled up at the idea of more contact between them. That wasn't important.

"Your mom knows more than I do," he answered.

"Oh? So you had to wait in here with her? How bad did she razz you? Probably not much. You were always her favorite." Kuroo rolled his eyes good-naturedly, turning back more toward him. "I think she'd trade me in a heartbeat for you."

"I don't think so. You two are the same. She mentioned something about you being a cute baby, earlier. You both... are sentimental like that."

"Really? So she cares after all. I _was_ a cute baby, by the way."

"Who kept her up all night crying," Kenma deadpanned.

"Don't sass me, Kenma, I'm wounded."

The grin that stretched across Kuroo's face stood in stark contrast to his offended tone. Seeing it, another one of those weird, warm feelings rose to the surface. Kenma guessed it meant he was happy. Strange as it felt, it wasn't like it made him feel sick. Just content or something. At the very least, glad that Kuroo was still his usual self, even after what had happened. He wasn't damaged other than physically, and he was back to stay.

"You'll survive," he settled for retorting.

"Only if you nurse me back to health in your loving arms-"

Kenma's eyes narrowed, and he shot him his best disgusted look. Apparently, Kuroo really hadn't changed. His sappy lines were the same; only, they took on a new meaning with the changes between them. If anything, they were worse. Kenma couldn't brush them off in quite the same way as when they were just friends.

Not when he knew they contained more than a few grains of truth. 

“Okay, okay, so I guess not. Hmm, what else?” Kuroo’s face went pensive for a couple of moments as he thought things through. “Oh. You, uh, saw the stuff at my place, right? I assume because, this,” he raised their hands, “kind of seems like you must have seen it.”

“Yeah.”

Kenma averted his gaze. His feelings were already at critical mass. Reminiscing about the scavenger hunt, the letters and things Kuroo had left him to lead up to a confession was too dangerous. He had to salvage what little control he had over his emotions. Thinking about how much care had gone into putting that together would destroy him.

“And?”

Kenma turned his head away a bit more, frowning. He was being stubborn, he knew that, but couldn’t Kuroo just read the situation without having to drag words out of him? Kuroo knew how to read him; it was no use for him to pretend like he didn’t already know the answer. He was just being persistent as a counter to Kenma’s hardheadedness.

“I’m here,” he stated flatly. That had to be sufficient. His face felt like it was on fire already.

“Yes, but here as my friend, or… more?”

“Kuro.”

“If it’s too hard to say it, can I just get a yes or a no?” Kuroo tried.

Kenma almost sighed with relief.

“Yes, okay?”

He then felt a tug through their connection, sharp enough to jostle him a little, and then a soft pressure against the back of his hand. Kenma turned back to see what was happening, and just as quickly as his eyes processed the sight, his face flushed.

Kuroo was kissing his hand. It wasn’t a real kiss, but that hardly mattered. It was too incredibly intimate for him to be unaffected by it.

“Thanks.”

Kenma weakly nodded his head.

Not a moment later, they heard the door crack open, and Kuroo’s mother was behind it, arms full of drinks and food. She seemed to be using her foot to prop the door open. Hoping there was enough distraction that she wouldn’t notice, they unlinked their hands. Kenma took a step back from the bed.

“I’ve got it!” a new voice interjected.

The door was shoved fully open.

“You’re awake, Tetsurou.”

“Hi Mom!”

“Don’t ‘hi mom’ me. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do about why you’re in a hospital bed.”

Behind her, Kenma spotted Bokuto holding the door. He must have gotten the text about visiting hours after all. Just from a quick glance, Bokuto seemed a lot better off than the last time he had seen him. He was even smiling.

Was that just because of getting to visit Kuroo, or had Akaashi followed his advice and visited? Had they patched things up? It was hard to say what could be contributing to his improved mood.

“Aren’t you supposed to be glad I’m alive?” Kuroo protested as his mother came further into the room, setting down what she’d bought on one of the side tables.

“I am glad. But I want answers,” she replied sternly, turning around to stare him down.

“How do you feel bro?”

“Not great, Bo. I did get hit by a car.”

Bokuto cringed.

Kenma backed off a little more, deciding to retreat to the chair deep in the corner of the room. It was getting too loud with everyone here, and their different conversations playing out. He needed some space.

What he wanted was more time to talk to Kuroo, but he wasn’t going to get it with everyone else around. He regretted that, but it couldn’t be helped. It wasn’t like he could refuse to share Kuroo with his own mother, or one of his other best friends. They were entitled to visit as much, maybe more than he was.

But even if they couldn’t talk more, there were things he knew now.

Kenma pointed his gaze toward where his hands lay on his lap. He honed in the hand that Kuroo had been holding onto just a minute earlier. Somehow, it was like he could still feel the kiss on his skin. There was a tingle there that seemed as though it wouldn’t fade for a long time.

As he let those loaded thoughts recede, Kenma let out a sigh.

He felt happy. Thankfully, that too seemed like it was destined to stay.


End file.
